The PotterWood Saga Vol III: Fight or Flight
by WoodismyKeeper
Summary: When both the students and staff of Hogwarts start dying in mysterious and gruesome ways, Harry and Oliver take it upon themselves to investigate the crimes. It's not just the killer they have to contend with, however; the Muggle world is now aware of the wizarding community and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement does not take kindly to vigilantes...
1. Settling In

**Here it is! The third and final fanfiction in the PotterWood Trilogy. If you haven't read the other two volumes, I suggest you go and read them so that you properly understand what the first few chapters are about.**

**Warnings: NC-17 rated, explicit scenes, yadda yadda yadda. If you've read some of my writing before, you know the drill. If not, good luck in keeping your soul clean.**

**I'm planning on going a little bit darker in this fic; if a character dies, they're gone for good. Unlike my last two fics where people died and came back to life. So... prepare for some serious feels. **

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**Chapter One – Settling In**

With a crack, Harry and Oliver Potter-Wood, along with their newborn son, James Sirius, Apparated outside the thatch-roofed cottage, just beyond Hogsmeade village, that they had very recently started to call their home. Lily and James Potter had bought the cottage for them to spend their lives together and raise a family, and today was their moving-in day. As he and Oliver trudged up the stone-flagged driveway, which he also hoped would be occupied by a family car some day, Harry's gratitude towards his parents rocketed.

Even though they had only been back to life for little over a month they had managed to show that, despite their sixteen-year absence from Harry's life, their love for him had not decreased one little bit. It was they who had stood by him throughout the difficult periods since their sudden reappearance, and it was clear that they were both determined to stay in his life as well as his family's.

Oliver smiled widely at Harry as he pushed open the door to the cottage, James Sirius gazing around innocently with his mother's hazel eyes beneath a fluffy shock of his father's jet-black hair. He was the perfect image of both Harry and Oliver, so it was very clear that he truly was their son. It wouldn't have been possible for Oliver to conceive such a beautiful being were it not for Harry's unyielding love for him, and when they first found out that they were expecting the child, they were elated beyond measure. The fact of the matter was, they had both been desperate to have children but their sexualities had put that idea down before they were even aware that women held no interest to them. But now that Oliver had fallen pregnant once before, there was a chance that it could happen again, and not just to Oliver; Harry was just as able to conceive as Oliver, and the likelihood of it happening was very high indeed; their love for each other had not decreased in the slightest, so if they wanted to prevent a pregnancy again they would have to use the Sterilising Spell that Oliver had discovered a couple of months previously. Since it was temporary, the spell would become ineffective after they had made love.

"Here's our new home, James Sirius. You, me, Mummy, we're all going to live together," Harry said, more to himself since the child obviously couldn't understand a word he was saying. Instead, all he received was a toothless, playful smile. Then he took him into his arms and cradled him, grinning down upon him like a Cheshire cat. "Well, someone seems happy!"

The sound of pots and pans clattering about in the kitchen met their ears as they crossed the threshold into the hallway, then it was accompanied by barking. Scuttling through the kitchen and yapping gleefully at his owners, Snuffles the Crup came bounding down the hallway towards them. Oliver had to jump in front of Harry and the baby in order to avoid a rather nasty collision.

"Snuffles! Come here, boy!" Harry cried, and he crouched so that he could pet Snuffles, whose tail was waggling rapidly, with one hand whilst keeping a giggling James Sirius nestled into his chest. Harry was overjoyed to hear his son, his flesh and blood, shrieking his high amusement. "Is the doggy funny?"

"Masters are back!" Dobby squeaked. "Dinner is almost ready! Dobby requests that masters take their seats at the kitchen table so that he may serve the corned beef pie that he has been preparing since they left."

Harry and Oliver looked at each other, very impressed by Dobby's efforts, and made their way into the kitchen down the hallway. As they passed the door to the living room, Harry caught a glance of their belongings stacked up against an ugly floral-patterned wall; Harry and Oliver's Firebolts, Hedwig and her cage, the Invisibility Cloak, Rebekah Kelly's tent, their trunks, Harry's schoolbag and books, the Quidditch robes that Harry and Oliver had bought each other for Christmas, and an unrecognised brown satchel, which Harry made a mental note to inspect further.

"That wallpaper looks horrible," Oliver muttered to him, and Harry snorted in amusement.

"I was thinking the same," Harry responded. "How about we decorate in there a nice black and red? Black carpet, red walls?"

"Sounds good," said Oliver, and when they stepped into the kitchen their nostrils were greeted by the most magnificent scent either of them had ever had the good fortune to smell.

Dobby, dressed in his crimson tea cosy and wearing a chef's hat, was stood on a stool at the oven, tending to a delicious-looking corned beef pie, which he made to take out without wearing mitts.

"Dobby, what are you doing?" Harry said quickly. "Put some oven mitts on; you don't want to burn yourself, do you?"

"Dobby is dreadfully sorry, sir!" Dobby leapt from the stool and dashed to a corner of the room, where he started cowering against the wall. "It won't happen again!"

Harry looked at Oliver scarcely, then he walked cautiously up to the terrified House-Elf and lowered himself to his level. "Dobby…" he said gently, and the Elf gazed up at him with great, tennis-ball-like eyes that shimmered with tears. "We're not like the Malfoys; we won't punish you like they did. Sit down at the table and _we'll_ take care of the dinner."

"Harry Potter-Wood is too kind," Dobby sobbed.

He sat there in the corner, rubbing his eyes with balled-up fists and looking like a very ugly, overgrown baby. Then he made his way over to the kitchen table, which was much too high for him, and tried with all his might to clamber up onto the chair, but his small stature meant that he couldn't even reach the seat, so Oliver lifted him up by the waist, like some sort of puppet, and placed him in front of a jug of orange juice.

"Oliver Potter-Wood is very kind too," Dobby sniffed.

"Baby, can you take James Sirius for me while I dish out the dinner, please?" Harry said, giving Oliver the baby and turning his attention to the pie in the oven, which was starting to smell slightly of burnt pastry. Luckily, it was only the very edges of the crust that had darkened.

Oliver sat James Sirius on the table in front of him and held him in place so that he wouldn't fall, then started pulling a variety of humorous faces that made Harry secretly smirk to himself. The baby seemed to be enjoying it, at least; his cute gurgling and squawks of joy made Harry's heart leap, and as he cut the pie into quarters he felt a subtle burning sensation in the back of his eyes.

Harry summoned three plates from the kitchen cupboard and started scooping the quarters out of the dish, leaving one behind. Snuffles' barking from behind him made him realise that they didn't have any dog food, so he decided that he would give the Crup the last quarter. He walked over to the dog bowl Lily had left behind and tipped in the remaining slice, which Snuffles sniffed at warily and then started eating it happily.

A fresh stream of ecstatic tears were making their way down Harry's cheeks as he took his, Oliver's and Dobby's plates over to the table with a set of cutlery each, then got three cups out of the cupboard and filled them with juice. He took a sip out of his own cup as he sat down, and felt an uncomfortable prickly sensation attacking the back of his throat as the cool liquid ran through him.

"James Sirius should need feeding in about an hour or so, baby," Harry sniffed, and he tucked into his pie.

Dobby sat at the table, staring confoundedly at the plate of food and cup of juice in front of him, then turned to Harry and said, "Dobby has never been given human food before. Dobby is honoured."

"Don't be. You're just as human as we are; why treat you differently because you're a different species?" Oliver said.

He'd noticed Harry's tears, but thought it best to wait until they'd had their meal before talking to him about it. Whenever Harry started crying, it usually meant that he would need some love, and that almost always led to more intimate activities…

Instead, he Summoned the Moses basket from the living room and lowered the baby gently onto the soft sheets, then covered him with a fluffy blanket.

"We'll do a little bit of decorating later, eh sweetheart?" he said, and took a mouthful of pie so hot that he almost spat it across the room.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, and he had a drink of his juice. "Once James Sirius has been fed and we've had some sleep, that is. I feel exhausted."

"Me too," Oliver agreed. "We've been awake for well over a day now, and after everything we've been through, I think we deserve a good night's rest. It's almost eight o'clock as it is. By the time James Sirius has been fed and he's had his nappy changed it'll be nine. Early night tonight. You'll need to prepare your schoolbag tomorrow…"

"It's just the way it was the day we left," Harry said. "Everything's already packed, so we can just spend tomorrow as a family."

"As much as I'd love to, we can't," said Oliver, and he ate the last of his pie, putting his fork down thereafter. "Not from the start of the day, at least. We need to go shopping and get some new baby clothes for James Sirius. Since we can use magic in front of Muggles now, we can just Apparate to the nearest shopping mall and get some clothes for him there."

"I can't wait," Harry said, somewhat unenthusiastically, which Oliver picked up on.

"Is everything alright, sweetheart?" he asked, and placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. Then he took Harry's chin into his other hand and faced him. Harry looked awful. Despite his watery smile, the dark bags beneath his eyes told a completely different story to the one that he was putting on display. "You don't look so well…"

"I feel fine…" Harry said unconvincingly. He sounded rather chesty and his voice was hoarse. His nose was starting to go red as well.

"You're not though, are you?" Oliver said, and from the look that Harry gave him, he knew that he'd read his body language correctly. "You can stay in bed tomorrow while I take James Sirius to the shopping mall. I'll call into the apothecary in Diagon Alley and grab you some Pepper Up Potion when I'm on my way back home."

"Okay…" Harry mumbled, knowing that there would be no arguing with Oliver.

In the coming five minutes, Harry hardly even touched his pie, his appetite shrinking until eventually he was not hungry at all. So he made his way up to bed at Oliver's command.

"I'll feed and change James Sirius, don't worry; you just get yourself up to bed. I'll be up shortly," Oliver had said as the remains of Harry's meal were scraped into the now empty dog bowl. Another bowl full of water sat beside it, and Snuffles lapped it up gratefully after the slightly dry pastry. "Go on, shoo!"

Harry smirked amusedly and reluctantly climbed the stairs up to the spacious bedroom, which shone with the moonlight that flooded in through the open curtains. But his head ached dully, and he just wasn't in the mood for romance right now, so he stripped his whole attire from his body, shut the curtains and climbed under the light bed covers. It felt heavenly with the silk sheets gliding like liquid over his body, and in no time at all he had been lulled into a deep but restless sleep.

His nose was sore, his throat burned and his eyes watered, and when he heard Oliver coming up the stairs an hour later, he felt relaxed somewhat. A subtle dip in the mattress next to him told him that James Sirius had been laid down temporarily, then Oliver's light footsteps trailed off again as he went to collect the Moses' basket.

He returned a minute later, trying not to wake Harry but failing miserably, and put the baby down to rest in the Moses' basket. Then Harry heard a mumble of "Goodnight, son" and the rustling of clothes. Unable to resist seeing Oliver naked, even after all this time, Harry turned over to face his gloriously bare form.

"You always look so sexy," he said, and recoiled at his nasal voice.

"You should be asleep, mister," Oliver said reprovingly, and he climbed into bed after placing one final kiss to James Sirius' forehead.

Even though his expression was one you could expect from a parent, he still smiled warmly at Harry and gave him a sweet kiss as they snuggled together, wearing nothing but their own skin.

"I love laying with you like this," Harry said, and he nuzzled himself further into Oliver's tight, muscular chest. "It never gets old."

"I feel the same way," Oliver said, mindlessly twirling his fingers through Harry's thick, jet-black mane of hair. "I love you, Snitchy. Please, get some sleep, if not for yourself, do it for me."

"Okay," Harry sighed in defeat, but he did as he had been asked and closed his eyes, taking in every particle of Oliver's unique scent, but even after fifteen minutes, sleep just didn't want to come to him. "Baby, I can't get to sleep…"

"I can't sleep knowing that you can't sleep," Oliver said, and Harry felt warm and fuzzy inside. No matter how many times Oliver has said sweet things like this before, it always made Harry's spine tingle with excitement. "Do you need some love?"

"I don't think I _need_ it exactly," Harry said enigmatically. "But I do _want_ it. I love you so much, Ollie; I want to make love…"

"We can't while the baby's in the room, sweetheart, I'm sorry," Oliver said, and he stroked a finger lightly down Harry's cheek. "He'll wake up if we moan like we always do when we make love. I was just talking about kissing and cuddling."

"We could always just put up Silencing Spells and stuff…" Harry said lowly.

"I suppose you're right," said Oliver. "But I'm still not sure. It doesn't feel right with the baby only a few feet away from us."

"He won't see or hear a thing," Harry gazed pleadingly into Oliver's shimmering hazel eyes, and the little rays of moonlight that beamed through the tiny gaps in the curtains did much to enhance his features, making Harry become slightly more aroused, his length poking gently at Oliver's leg. "Please…"

"I never could say 'no' to you," Oliver smiled amusedly, and he took his wand from the bedside cabinet then gave it a wave, watching as a disturbance in the air drifted over the bed like a veil. "But I'm far too tired to have anal tonight. Would you settle for frotting?"

"Deal," Harry and Oliver touched noses, their breath ghosting across each other's cheeks.

Their lips brushed against one another without making full contact, instead lingering teasingly close, then they muttered in unison, "I love you," and bridged the gap.

Their love was undeniable, and every time that Harry engaged Oliver in such a passionate kiss he felt as though his body was live. His spine tingled as Oliver's expert hands roamed down his back and cupped his butt. This could never get old, no matter how many times they did it.

As Oliver gently nipped his lower lip, begging for entrance, Harry's sense of adventure remained just as strong as it had been the first time that they had kissed all those months back.

Despite his blocked nose, he found it very easy to kiss Oliver without getting out of breath. Perhaps it was the mutual breathing they had, sharing their oxygen with the other, or maybe it was just that Harry was able to draw in air before carrying on their tongue-tying assault…

"You wonderful man," Harry gasped; Oliver was suckling on the sensitive skin of his neck.

Their dicks grew harder, twitched, and the tips grazed together, making both Harry and Oliver groan quietly. Even though there were Silencing Spells in place, they were trying their hardest to remain as quiet as possible.

"Holy shit, Harry," Oliver moaned, for Harry had grasped their shafts and was rubbing them quickly together such that precum pooled and frothed on the heads.

"You like that?" Harry grunted; he was enjoying their time together as well.

"Forget liking it; I fucking love it…"

Oliver burrowed his head into Harry's neck and tried to flick his tongue bracingly, but the pleasure that was riddling his body prevented him from unleashing it upon the man he loved. Instead, he decided to make do with simply nibbling. He soon realised that this had far more of an effect on Harry; Harry hadn't just gasped or groaned like he usually did whenever Oliver paid attention to his neck; he'd yelped.

"Do you like _that_?" Oliver muttered into Harry's ear, teething at the lobe.

"Ohhh… don't stop doing it, baby…" Harry begged. "Please…"

"Okay, sweetheart," Oliver said gently, and he went back to nibbling on Harry's neck, being rewarded by gratified moans from the man that he loved to the ends of the Earth. "I think I'm getting close…"

"Me too," Harry said through gritted teeth, and he crushed his lips to Oliver's in a kiss so powerful that it could have stunned him. "T-Together?"

"Together…"

Harry and Oliver, unified at the soul and so much more, cried out as their bodies surrendered beneath the weight of their love-and-lust-filled session, their bodies becoming slicked with a thick coating of pearly cum.

They lay together on the bed, kissing endlessly with fiery passion as James Sirius snoozed in the Moses' basket beside them, and after a few minutes of their orgasm raging through their systems, they finally descended from heaven, panting and wheezing, and Harry's chest rattling under the strain of having to regulate his breaths.

"I… love… you…" he drew in sharply, but hardly any oxygen seemed to be coming to him. He waved around frantically and, quick as a flash, Oliver picked up his wand once again.

"Stay still," he said quickly. "_Anapneo!_"

Harry's laboured breathing calmed, and it eventually settled down to raspy intakes of purifying air. His eyes were streaming tears down his face, and it was painfully obvious that he had been terrified for a moment there.

"Thank you," Harry said, clutching at his throat and chest. He practically threw himself to Oliver's torso after they had been cleaned up and snapped his arms shut tightly around him. "I thought I was doomed for a minute there…"

"Come on now, it's only a cold," Oliver said kindly. "It'll take more than that to get rid of my precious Harry, especially when I'm around. Alright, it's time to get some sleep now; I'm really tired."

"Me too," Harry agreed in his whiny, clogged-up voice. "Goodnight…"

"Goodnight. Look at me," Oliver took Harry's chin in between his thumb and forefinger and gazed deeply into his dazzling hazel eyes. "I love you, Snitchy."

"I love… you too… ba…" Harry's exhaustion had finally taken its toll on him, and consciousness ebbed away from him as he snuggled deeply into Oliver's chest, perfectly content with the way his life was finally going.

He had a family, a home, and pretty soon he would be leaving Hogwarts, ready to head into the world of work and provide for his husband and son, hopefully as a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

All he had to face now were his NEWT exams and then he could finally live the life he had been craving for so long. His life, his dreadful, angst-filled life, was finally making the turn-around he had been yearning for, and as he visited the realm of dreams, he considered his world, his husband, his son, to be wholly perfect.


	2. Underlying Tension

**Chapter Two – Underlying Tension**

Oliver awoke a few hours later, still in the dead of night, to the sounds of his son wailing to be fed. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, knowing that there would be plenty more nights like this to come, but he got out of bed regardless after checking that Harry was still asleep.

The first thing he did was take James Sirius out of the Moses' basket and cradle him, then he rocked him gently back-and-forth in the hopes that it would lull the youngster back to sleep. But it proved to be unsuccessful.

"Hush, little James," he said softly. "You'll wake Daddy."

The baby just wouldn't stop crying, so Oliver practically ran from the bedroom and down the stairs towards the kitchen. Amidst the confusion, he scrambled frantically around the kitchen in search of baby-feeding equipment, and he sighed with relief when everything he needed was revealed as he tore open the first cupboard of ten.

"Alright son, not long now…" Oliver soothed James Sirius as much as he could, with the best results he got being that the baby quietened down very minimally.

After five painstaking minutes of waiting for the water to boil (and relentless shrieking), Oliver was finally able to prepare his son's bottle. With a quick wave of his wand, the milk's temperature lowered to a comfortable level for the baby.

"Look what I've got, James," Oliver smiled comfortingly, and he slightly shook the bottle in front of James Sirius, whose incessant cries had risen in volume when Oliver had turned his attention away from him.

Still half-asleep, Oliver carried James Sirius into the living room and sat down on a comfortable-but-ugly armchair, next to the debris of their unpacked belongings. James Sirius was crying louder than ever, and Oliver could feel himself getting a little frustrated with himself for not being able to calm him down sooner. Regardless, he lowered the teat of the bottle to the baby's mouth, and silence descended over the cottage like a heavy curtain, replaced by the gentle sound of sucking.

"That's my boy," Oliver said quietly.

This bonding time with his son was more precious than any amount of sleep he could ever get, and from the moment his eyes roved over that thick mess of jet-black hair, he was reminded heavily of Harry, his wonderful Harry and father to this beautiful creation.

"You've got your daddy's hair," he said keenly as James Sirius stared up at him with innocent, beady, hazel eyes. "And his cute nose. You look so much like him, you gorgeous little thing. All you've got from me is your eyes…"

"But they're amazing eyes," a voice said groggily. It was very nasal and it sounded as though the originator was carrying a phlegm monster in their throat. "Besides, he's got your chiselled looks."

"You should be in bed," Oliver said authoritatively, and he stood, still feeding the baby, then tried to usher Harry back up the stairs. "Go on, bed. I don't want you getting any worse until I can get you some Pepper Up Potion."

"I was just getting a glass of water…" Harry mumbled.

"Bed," Oliver repeated. He flicked his wand and a glass filled with water drifted into the living room through the kitchen and hallway. "There's your water; get some rest. Please, sweetheart; I want you to get better."

"Oh alright," Harry sighed. "Can I at least have a goodnight kiss before I go?"

"Of course you can," Oliver said, giving him a gentle kiss on the lips. "I'll be back up once James Sirius has finished having his feed. Goodnight."

Harry nodded and climbed, somewhat reluctantly, up the stairs and towards the bedroom. When Oliver heard a door click, he smiled to himself and sat back down on the sofa in the living room.

Now that he thought about it he didn't feel tired anymore, but he knew that he was, in all actuality, exhausted. He knew that this was going to be the first sleepless night of many, so he paced into the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee whilst James Sirius carried on taking his milk.

"You really were hungry, weren't you?" said Oliver, and he lifted the half-empty bottle from James Sirius' lips. Then the baby started crying again so he gave it back to him. "There, there, son…"

As much as he would have loved for the milk to have a pacifying effect on the baby, it just wasn't going to happen.

Oliver rocked him in his arms and carried his cup of coffee into the living room, all while being deafened by a barrage of deafening shrieks.

"What's wrong, James?" Oliver said pointlessly. "Do you need your dummy? _Accio pacifier!_"

He caught the pacifier that had rose out from the unpacked boxes and cast a Cleaning Charm on it, then he placed the rubber end gently in James Sirius' mouth, sighing in relief when the cottage fell quiet once again.

The baby looked so fragile, so delicate, just like a toy doll in Oliver's arms, and pacified himself using the dummy in his mouth. Oliver watched, his eyelids feeling like lead, and grinned widely at the beautiful little thing he was cradling to sleep, swelling with something he couldn't quite put his finger on but loving every second of it. It was hard to believe that he had conceived this treasure, this bundle of joy, and even more so was the fact that he now had a thriving family; Harry, his wonderful, amazing Harry, was the father to his son, and it would have been impossible for Oliver to feel even prouder to be James Sirius' mother.

He loved his life; everything about it was perfect. From the celestial being in his arms to the Crup snoozing in the corner of the living room, Oliver wouldn't replace them for anything in the world, and as the little cottage outside of Hogsmeade simmered with peace, mother and son lay across the sofa, drifting off into a deep and unbroken sleep.

Oliver was fast asleep on the sofa, James Sirius curled up next to him and snoozing like an angel, when Harry came downstairs the next morning. Despite his comfortable, peaceful sleep, Harry was still very congested and didn't feel any better than when he had gone to bed the night before.

"Ollie? Ollie?" he whispered, gently shaking Oliver's shoulder and rousing him back to wakefulness, the baby remaining undisturbed.

"Wha…" Oliver groaned, and sat up cautiously, trying to keep James Sirius asleep. "Harry? What time is it, sweetheart?"

"It's nearly half eleven in the morning," said Harry. "We need to get unpacked and buy some baby clothes…"

"_I_ need to buy some baby clothes," Oliver corrected him. "You're going straight back up to bed. As for unpacking, we can do that tomorrow when you've finished your lessons."

"But-"

"No buts," Oliver said flatly. "Bed, mister. You need as much rest as you can get."

He stood up and placed his hands on Harry's shoulders, James Sirius rolling over in his sleep.

"Oliver," Harry said warningly. He always used Oliver's nickname, so his unsuspecting husband was taken aback when his full first name was said. "I'm coming with you. We're buying the clothes together. _No_._ Buts_."

With that, his expression reverted back to normal and he tapped Oliver playfully on the nose.

"Alright fine," Oliver conceded. "I'm getting you some potion before we go, though."

"Fine by me," said Harry, and he sat next to James Sirius, who was showing signs of waking; he grumbled to himself and his eyelids flickered. "It's alright, little James, Daddy's here."

"I'll be about twenty minutes. You'll be fine, won't you?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at Oliver and gave him a you-didn't-just-say-that look. His silence said it all; Oliver flushed with embarrassment.

"Honestly, baby, you've got nothing to worry about," Harry said. "I'm perfectly capable of looking after our baby."

"I know you are," Oliver said lowly. "Really, I do. You're a wonderful father. It's just that I don't like the idea of leaving him…"

"Ollie, look at me," Harry said gently. "You'll be gone for twenty minutes. _Twenty minutes_. What going to happen in that time, the cottage gets hit by a missile?"

"I suppose you're right," Oliver snorted in amusement. "I think I'm just being an overprotective mother."

"An overprotective mother is a lot better than a neglectful mother, remember that," Harry smiled warmly, and he brought Oliver into a sweet kiss. Then he picked up James Sirius and cradled him back to sleep before he had a chance to cry again. "Now go and fetch me that potion. My throat is driving me crazy!"

Oliver grinned sheepishly as he walked into the hallway to grab his jacket.

"Are you abso-?"

"Go!" Harry barked.

Nodding quickly and flushing a deep shade of crimson, Oliver Disapparated with a loud crack, leaving Harry with James Sirius in his arms.

"You sweet little thing," Harry murmured genially. He sat back down on the sofa and decided that he would investigate the peculiar, plain brown package next to the mountain of his and Oliver's unpacked belongings. "Let's see what's in here, eh?"

Harry propped a cushion up against the back of the seat next to him and positioned James Sirius comfortably against it as he slept. Harry plucked the package from the floor and felt its considerable weight in his hands before he put it on his lap and started to quietly tear the paper.

A small, folded note fell out onto the floor. It read:

_You saved my life. As a token of my gratitude, here are seven free copies of the entire series of novels published about you, which you should have been entitled to anyway.  
Regards,  
Joanne Rowling_

Harry's mind swam with wonder. So _these_ were the books about him that Hermione had mentioned. It made sense for him to be getting these for free, not only because they were about him; he'd saved Joanne Rowling's life just a couple of days ago. She'd been trapped at Eternal Mansion in the Maldives, where the power-hungry madman, Xavier, had tried to consume the power of the Eternal Complex, a blank void with stone archways and great swirling vortexes that led to events in the past.

It had been Harry and Oliver who had rounded-up the descendents of the four original Eternals – the creators of the gateway to the Eternal Complex – and used their power to restore order to the Universe and eliminate Xavier once and for all.

Up until seeing Condor, the leader of the criminal organisation Blue Swan, dead upon the highest floor of the mansion, Harry and Oliver had considered him to be the brains behind several attacks made on themselves. However, it became to known to them, shortly after a quick altercation with Xavier, that he was in fact testing them on their skills so that he could request their help in stopping the Universe being destroyed, revealing him as the hero in all of it. He devised an elaborate plan so that his minions wouldn't kill, and he set about making sure that Harry and Oliver had the skills he needed by attacking them, unfortunately claiming the life of Ron Weasley, and many others, in the process.

Then something happened in the Eternal Complex, and nobody was sure what it was exactly, but the Brand of Blue Swan, a tattoo on arms of the organisation's members, seemed to be involved in bringing the dead back to life. The Eternal Complex acted as a gateway between the worlds of the dead and the living, and it was only when Harry was Branded with the mark himself that he was able to bring people back to life. First was Ron; second were Rebekah Kelly (a former Blue Swan agent turned vigilante) and Bridgett Otero (a girl Harry and Oliver had met during their honeymoon in the Maldives); third were Dominic Farnsworth (another former agent turned vigilante) and Garnet (an agent of Blue Swan and one of the four Eternals, who had bargained with Harry and Oliver that she would help them if she could come back to life), as well as the other Eternals, Cobra, Lynx and Otter, whose names Harry and Oliver had not found out yet; fourth, and finally, was Condor. His first name being Eddy, his surname was not known to Harry or Oliver yet, but their defeat of Xavier and leaving the Eternal Complex meant that he had earned his life back, in Harry's eyes. Upon hearing this new, Eddy started something with Dominic. Harry made a mental note to ask Eddy his surname.

All of this had happened in the space of just over a month, and Harry and Oliver had made a lot of new friends as a result of it; Rebekah, Bridgett, Eddy, Dominic, Sarah Hunter (a Midwitch turned vigilante, who was fighting Blue Swan alongside a Muggle called Michael Hatchet, who didn't make it out of the Eternal Complex), Otter, Lynx and Cobra. Those who were only to Harry and Oliver by their codenames would be asked for the real names upon being met up with again.

With Ron's life returned to him, he had resumed his relationship with Hermione, and Harry beamed at the fact that despite everything that had happened, the world was going back to normal. He opened the first book, entitled "_Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_", then started reading the first page to his son, who had awoken a couple of minutes previously as Harry sifted through the books. Harry picked up a silent, blank-staring James Sirius and sat him on his lap, then read the story to him, over his shoulder.

"_Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense._"

"Look, little James," Harry whispered. "This book's about Daddy…"

Just then, there was a screeching coming from outside, and a massive, feathery something almost crashed into the window. Whatever it was stopped immediately short of the glass pane and perched itself on the ledge. Harry put the book down and walked over to the window with James Sirius in his arms. He opened the window, hissing at the sudden gust of cold air that blew in, and then gasped when he saw Zeus soar straight into the room and land on the arm of the sofa.

Zeus was their family owl. Given to Harry and Oliver by Lily and James, his sole purpose was to serve them, and James Sirius once he became old enough to write letters to friends and family members. Flat-headed and shining in coat of glossy, black feathers, his sharp eyes flashed from side-to-side and scanned the immediate area, as though looking for prey.

"Zeus!" Harry said in pleasant surprise. "I completely forgot about you! Hey, what's that you've got on your leg?"

The family owl glared directly at him, unblinking, unflinching, and it was only when Harry stepped forward, James Sirius staring in curiosity, that he held out his leg all while maintaining its soldier-like composure. Attached to his leg was a perfectly-white envelope, which looked to have been stamped with the official seal of the Triwizard Committee at the Ministry of Magic. Three bold, black 'T's circled a stationary 'M' on the back of the unexpectedly-heavy envelope, and when Harry tore the paper open he saw that there was a tiny note squashed next to a small bag of what felt like coins.

"This better be good," Harry grumbled to himself. He was finished with the Triwizard Committee; the Magic is Might Duelling Championship was far more trouble than it was worth…

He unfolded it and read the scrawled handwriting.

_To whom it may concern,  
Due to unforeseen circumstances, the Magic is Might Duelling Championship, which has been taking place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, is cancelled. The death of one of the competitors has led to the Triwizard Committee being disbanded and the tournament itself being discontinued fully.  
We apologise for any inconvenience caused. All competitors shall receive two hundred Galleons, which has been enclosed, for their participation.  
Regards,  
Kevin Sazlak, former Chair of the Triwizard Committee._

"Two hundred Galleons, eh?" Harry said mindlessly. "Ron and Hermione would have gotten their earnings, too… So would Mum and Dad… Guess what, little James? Mummy and Daddy are going to buy you a nice, new everything."

A knock at the door five minutes later gained Harry's attention and, leaving Dobby to feed Zeus, he opened it to see Ron and Hermione beaming at him, Dominic and Eddy behind them and looking quite as pleased as Harry, himself, felt.

"What are you going to do with your two hundred Galleons?" Ron asked immediately.

"Ron!" Hermione scolded him. "How do you know he's got-?"

"Baby things," Harry said simply, smiling as he allowed his four friends over the threshold.

When they moved into the living room, Harry was suddenly aware of his and Oliver's unpacked belongings once again.

"Er… one minute…" Harry excused himself and made his way into the kitchen to see Dobby. "Dobby, is there any way that you could make unpacking quick?"

Dobby didn't answer; instead, he clicked his fingers. Silence reigned for a few seconds before Hermione yelped in surprise and the trunks and other paraphernalia could be heard clattering up the stairs. After another few tense minutes of clanging, banging and crashing, it became clear to Harry that Dobby had tried to unpack their things for them. Dobby clicked his fingers again and a landslide of rubbish and debris thundered down the wooden staircase and into the kitchen.

"Dobby has unpacked and cleaned up for Harry and Oliver Potter-Wood," Dobby said gleefully. Giving his fingers a final snap, Dobby made the clutter disappear in the blink of an eye. "Is there anything else Dobby can do for them?"

"Could you find Ol-?"

"Honey, I'm home!" Oliver called from the hallway, then started laughing. "I've always wanted to say that!"

"Here's Mummy, James!" Harry said happily, and he made his way out of the kitchen to greet Oliver with a gentle kiss.

"How's my little angel doing?" Oliver smiled. He took James Sirius out of Harry's arms and kissed his forehead, then cradled him. He handed a white paper packet over to Harry, which contained a phial and a glass bottle full of orangey liquid. In his other arm was a bag that looked to be filled with a variety of knickknacks. Luckily, none of these showed even the slightest possibility of them being baby clothes; they seemed jagged and poked out at the polythene material. If they _were_ baby clothes, Oliver would be sleeping on the couch that night. "Here's your potion, sweetheart. Bottoms up."

Harry withdrew the phial cautiously and stared at it. Then, with a quick glance towards Oliver, he placed the glass to his lips and threw his head back, draining the entire contents in one gulp.

At first it felt strange, like a tingling sensation, then his throat started prickling slightly and his eyes watered. But then his entire body screamed as though it was on fire, disappearing a few seconds later but leaving a lasting impression on him.

"Holy sh-!" Harry stemmed his cursing in front of the baby, but he still mouthed as many blue streaks as a police light. "That's some bloody strong stuff!"

Dominic, Eddy and Ron were chuckling while Hermione gave them reproving looks.

"Honestly, you three," she sighed. "Your friend has just had a very uncomfortable experience with a potion and you are all _laughing_? Very sympathetic. Are you alright, Harry?"

"I feel absolutely fine now," Harry said brightly, his head letting off thin, wispy curls of steam.

"Then you'll feel even better when I tell that I've made plans for Valentine's Day…" Oliver smirked, then turned to Hermione. "You'd be able to look after James Sirius for the night, wouldn't you?"

"Of course; I'd love to!" Hermione nodded.

"Where are we going?" said Harry.

"Ah, now _that_, sweetheart," Oliver tapped his nose secretively. "Is something that you'll just have to wait to find out. What I'll tell you, though," he drew himself closer to Harry. "Is that it's going to be a _very_ fun night…"

"Now, now, Oliver," Harry said in a mock stern voice. "Be careful what you talk about around the baby."

Oliver grabbed Harry by the waist and pulled him up close once again, James Sirius remaining blissfully unaware of his surroundings in his mother's arms.

"I love you so much, do you know that?" Oliver said lowly.

"I do…" Harry said breathily. "You know how much I love _you_, don't you?"

"Of course; you gave me a son. That's the best present any man could ask for," Oliver laced Harry's lips with his own and they stood there for a minute, simply kissing, for neither of them could go a day without showing such affection they felt at that very moment.

"You're such a good kisser…" Harry said when they broke apart. "I must have done something really heroic to deserve you…"

"You existed," Oliver said simply. "All I ask is that you stay alive, because I'll never stop loving you, sweetheart…"

"I hate to interrupt this little moment between you two," Hermione said tentatively, poking her head round the doorframe of the living room. "Harry, you didn't tell me Joanne Rowling sent you the books!"

"I didn't have a chance to," Harry said defensively. "I was too busy taking mouthfuls of my amazing husband…"

"Oh, well don't let me stop you from getting to whatever it was you were doing!"

"No, it's fine," said Oliver. "We need to go out soon, anyway. We're getting James Sirius some new baby clothes."

"On a Sunday?" Hermione said, and she raised an eyebrow. "Diagon Alley, and pretty much all of the Muggle shops, close at one in the afternoon on Sundays. It's nearly half past twelve as it is…"

"I suppose we could just go sometime during the week…" Harry said slowly.

"Yeah," said Oliver, and he hugged Harry. "When you aren't completely bogged down by homework and revision, we can go."

"So what do we do for today?" Harry said into Oliver's chest.

"Family time, I think; we've been waiting for a chance to spend some time together."

"If you want, we can leave you two in peace with the baby?" Hermione suggested. Then she lurched forward and smacked her face off the floor; Ron had tripped as he walked out of the living room and had crashed directly into her.

"Hermione, are you alright?!" Harry fretted.

"I'm fine," Hermione grumbled. She picked herself up, brushed a few speckles of dust off her clothes, then rounded on Ron. "You might want to watch where you're walking in future, Ron."

"Sorry, Herms," Ron said, and he pecked Hermione on the cheek.

"What's all this commotion about?" Dominic joined them in the hallway, followed closely by Eddy.

"Nothing, nothing…" Hermione mumbled.

"Eddy, I have something to ask you," Harry said. "What's your surname?"

"Oh, I didn't tell you?" Eddy said. "It's Francis."

"Eddy Francis, hm?" said Oliver. "Now we know what to put on the Christmas cards for all of you. By the way, how was your first day together yesterday?"

"Ours?" Dominic said, and he gestured to both himself and Eddy. "Very good. Great, actually. A couple of weeks ago, I wouldn't have ever thought of myself as being with another man, but this feels right…"

"Have you been on a date yet?" Hermione said impetuously. "How was it? Where did you go?"

"Hold on there, Hermione," Dominic said, raising his arms in an affronted manner. "We haven't been on a date yet…"

"We're going to go out sometime this week," Eddy said, placing a peck to Dominic's cheek. "Not sure where, though."

"There's a good restaurant down in the village," said Harry. "It's called 'Taste of Veela'."

"Ah yes…" Eddy said ashamedly. "I remember the place…"

"So you should…"

The awkward silence that resulted was very uncomfortable indeed, broken only by the light scraping sounds coming from the living room as Zeus trooped along the tabletop.

After a while, Hermione made a break for freedom from the tension by announcing her and Ron's departure, and they hurriedly put on their jackets before practically running out of the door.

"We'll just be going now…" Eddy mumbled, taking Dominic's hand stalking out of the cottage.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't intended on things getting as awkward as they had been, but he knew that he should have guessed there would be at least some tension between them; even though Eddy was trying to do the right thing when he orchestrated the Dementor attack on them, he still endangered their lives, which was not something that they could easily forgive.

"I hope things don't get awkward like that often…" Oliver said.

"I know…" Harry agreed. "Anyways, let's have some family time! What shall we do today?"

Even though he wanted so desperately to do something family-related, there really wasn't all that much that Harry could do with a baby. Instead, he and Oliver sat snuggled on the sofa with James Sirius nestled between them, watching a flatscreen television that Dobby had brought up from Oliver's grandmother's house for the entire day. It wasn't a very active or exciting day, Harry couldn't deny that fact, but it was a nice change to what life had been like for them since they got together the previous September.

By bedtime, Harry and Oliver were both exhausted, neither of them having got a decent amount of sleep the night before.

After feeding James Sirius and changing his nappy, Harry placed the little boy into the Moses' basket, where his tiny, angelic form fell instantly to sleep.

"He's such a beautiful boy, isn't he?" Oliver whispered in Harry's ear, and he snaked his arms around his waist. "He gets it from his Daddy…"

"And his Mummy," Harry said, and he allowed Oliver to suckle on his neck for a minute or so. "Merlin, I love you so much…"

"I love you too, Snitchy," said Oliver, and he gasped quietly when Harry's wandering hand cupped his crotch. "The abstinence rule is back in force, by the way; no love-making until Valentine's Day…"

"Hmm… I can't wait," Harry drew himself up to Oliver and smiled flirtatiously. Then he placed a cheeky kiss to his lips, got undressed and climbed into bed.

Since abstinence was enforced once again, Harry made do with a generous portion of kisses from Oliver. They snoozed in each other's arms for a reasonable amount of time afterwards, before falling into a very deep and comfortable slumber.

"Wake up, sleepyhead…" no voice other than Oliver's could have brought Harry to wakefulness with such attentive delicacy, and the first thing that Harry did was claim his husband's lips.

Oliver didn't even care about Harry's morning breath; he sank into the kiss as easily as he had done the previous night, and was reluctant to let go of Harry when he announced that he would have to leave soon to get back to Hogwarts.

"I'm sorry, baby," Harry said sadly. "But I've got to go to Hogwarts if I want to be a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. I'll be finished soon. Then you'll have me all summer, and the rest of our lives after that, as well."

"I know," Oliver said, and he smiled widely. "Choosing to spend my life with you was the best decision I ever made, apart from raising a baby with you, too."

Harry blushed slightly; even after spending all this time with Oliver, he still couldn't prevent his cheeks from flooding with colour every time his husband said something sweet.

"You're so cute when you blush…"

Deciding to ignore the last statement for fear of an even brighter blush, Harry threw on a clean set of robes then made his way downstairs after giving a still-sleeping James Sirius a gentle kiss on the forehead. Oliver came down with him and prepared breakfast for the both of them.

"What are you going to do today?" Harry asked as he tucked into a slice of toast. "You're on maternity leave now, so there isn't really anything for you to do…"

"I can look after James Sirius," Oliver said happily. "And clean up the cottage."

"Dobby can do that, sir!" Dobby said, and he crawled out from under the sink; his bedroom.

"Dobby, I order you to use one of the spare bedrooms upstairs when you sleep," Harry said immediately. "You're to make it as comfortable as possible and retire to bed at ten o'clock every night, waking up at eight o'clock every morning."

"Yes, sir!" Dobby bowed, then he started to clean up the dishes in the sink.

"You really are amazing, do you know that?" Oliver said, sitting down at the table with two cups of fresh coffee. "Nobody I know would ever let a House-Elf have its own bedroom."

"Dobby's done a lot for me in the past," Harry stated. "I think I owe him a comfortable place to live, not a prison for him to slave in."

"And that's why I love you so much," Oliver said warmly, gently cupping Harry's cheek with his hand. "Seriously. You only ever care about other people and you treat everyone as equal to yourself. I'm so lucky to have fallen in love with you, not that it was difficult to when you're so loveable anyway."

"You're giving me toothache," Harry joked.

"Going off-topic," said Oliver. "I was thinking maybe we could get started on decorating the cottage today. What do you think about turning the kitchen green?"

"That sounds quite nice," Harry nodded. Then he laid down his mug and stood up, placing a sweet kiss to Oliver's lips and announcing. "I've got to get going. I'll be back tonight, baby."

"Goodbye!" Oliver called as Harry walked through the hallway, then when the door to the cottage had shut he gave his wand a quick flick. The walls of the kitchen turned from a sullen-yellow to a minty colour, and laminated flooring popped into existence beneath Oliver's feet. "That's the first room decorated…"

*  
As much as Harry thought he would love being back at Hogwarts, it wasn't long before he had came to the realisation that his lessons were, in fact, far more boring now that they were in NEWT territory; Charms, his first lesson, consisted of nothing but revision, which only he, Ron and Hermione undertook, seeing as though everyone else in the class was up-to-date. Hermione, of course, was back on form within fifteen minutes, but Harry and Ron were left with a mountainous pile of homework to complete for their next lesson.

"I found it very easy," Hermione boasted, returning to her usual, know-it-all self, which Harry had to admit he had missed. "I'll help you two, don't worry. You can get Oliver to help you with your homework as well, Harry."

"Hermione, do you have to brag?" Ron moaned.

"I'm sorry Ronald, but I'm not going to lie just so that you don't feel uncomfortable. I don't dumb myself down for anything or anyone, you should know that by now."

Ron simply sighed in defeat.

The harsh truth of Harry's return to Hogwarts was that every single one of his Professors, including Professor Snape who he had started to like as a result of a prank by Fred and George, was dumping mounds upon mounds of homework on him even though he had only missed a week of school.

"I'm going to be so bogged down," he complained at lunch after a particularly ruthless barrage of work from Professor McGonagall. "I feel really sorry for Oliver. He's going to lose me for the next couple of days; the work is going to make things difficult between us, I know it…"

"I don't know how you could think such a thing," Hermione said, refusing to meet the hard stare Harry sent at her. "Oliver is completely crazy about you, and he's the most understanding man I've ever met. Trust me; things are going to be absolutely fine. Besides, you've got your big night with him in a week…"

That afternoon's lessons were hardly any easier than the morning's lessons, and by the time Harry dragged himself through the Entrance Hall, heading for the cottage just outside of Hogsmeade, he was completely and utterly exhausted. Maybe Oliver would be able to service him a little bit when he got home…

"Baby, I'm back…" he grumbled, and he slumped over the doorway after battling the harsh winds and torrential rain outside.

The heat inside the cottage was highly comforting, but no more so than Oliver's loving embrace as Harry made his way into the living room. The walls were red and a fluffy black carpet, upon which lay a placid Snuffles, cushioned the floor. Flickers of flames in the grate on the opposite side of the room made light dance over the sofa and other furniture, casting a troupe of synchronised shadows across the wall, and Harry's first thought was the very thing he craved; home.

"It looks beautiful in here," he gasped, and he felt himself swooning in Oliver's arms. James Sirius watched from the sofa, unknowing of the world around him.

"It looks beautiful in here… just like you…" Oliver whispered to Harry, savouring the resulting tremors of excitement that Harry gave off.

"You always know how to get me worked up…" Harry smiled blearily. Then, in the hopes of having their abstinence rule revoked, he said, "It's a shame that we can't make love until Valentine's Day…"

"I know you want to make love, Harry," Oliver said understandingly. "But if we wait until Valentine's Day, it's going to be so much better and more satisfying…"

"Alright…" Harry said dejectedly. He quickly changed the subject over to the matter of schoolwork. "I've been given so much homework… I don't know if I'll be able to spend much time with you over the next couple of days…"

"That's not a problem," Oliver assured him. "Look, I'll even give you a hand with it. If they've given you what I think they've given you, it can all be learned with just a flick of a wand. Let me see…"

Oliver walked into the hallway, Harry picking up James Sirius and pulling silly faces at him, then returned with Harry's schoolbag, which he burrowed into deeply before extracting a sheaf of parchment. After a couple of minutes' careful scrutiny, Oliver's furrowed brow relaxed, and his expression grew softer.

"Just what I thought," Oliver said happily. "All they've given you is a list of spells to learn so that you can catch up with the others. They do it so that NEWT students who miss a lesson can catch up without having to stress over it. Put James down and sit still while I cast the spells."

Harry grinned widely and placed James Sirius next to him, then braced himself for a barrage of spells he wasn't even sure he'd feel.

"Let's see now…" Oliver began, scanning the parchment. "Charms – _Educandi Charms!_"

Nothing about Harry's physical demeanour changed in the slightest, but his mind was flooded with knowledge of spell movements, incantations and effects, and when Oliver carried on through the list (_Educandi Potions! Educandi Transfiguration! Educandi Herbology! Educandi History of Magic!_) he was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information that causing every synapse in his brain to fire simultaneously. Was this what it felt like to be Hermione?

"Okay, there are a couple of questions here just to check. First one; how long does it take to brew a Scintillation Solution?"

"Three days, nine hours and four minutes," Harry intoned, the words flowing freely from the tip of his tongue.

"The parchment says three and a half days is acceptable, but what you said is the exact answer…" Oliver said in high bewilderment. "I think I might have overdone it with the spells… Second one; when was the first public show-?"

"Tuesday, the sixteenth of September, four hundred and seventy eight B.C, at seven o'clock in the morning, precisely, by a witch called Heather Mitchburn. It happened in what's now known as the Westminster district of London."

"Blimey, Harry! I really _did_ go overboard! The sheet just says four hundred and seventy eight B.C."

"At least I can give Hermione a run for her money," Harry winked, and then he and Oliver both curled up in paroxysms of laughter, with James Sirius even joining in when he saw that they were rolling together on the floor.

"I love you, Snitchy…" Oliver whispered once their laughter had subsided and their breathing returned to normal.

"I love you too, Ollie…" their lips lingered teasingly close to one another, but never made full contact, and when Harry tried to connect them, Oliver pulled away.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Oliver wiggled his finger playfully. "Abstinence, remember?"

"Just you wait," Harry smirked mischievously. "When Valentine's Day comes, I'm going to- oops, not in front of the baby."

"I look forward to whatever it is you have planned," Oliver chuckled, and they lay together for the rest of the night, with James Sirius gazing up at them from in between their bodies.

The next week went by faster than Harry could have ever imagined. He put it down to the steadily-intensifying excitement of Valentine's Day that his lessons were miraculously more fun than before, and he and Ron were both amused beyond measure when Hermione found out about Oliver's misjudging of his spells.

"You shouldn't be that far ahead!" Hermione said reprovingly, and she glared at Ron across the lunch table when he responded.

"You're just jealous that Harry's beating you in a few lessons for once."

"But he cheated! Oliver shouldn't have performed those spells on him!"

"Hermione, give it a rest," Ron said irritably. "Just accept the fact that Harry's got more knowledge than you for now."

"_For now_," Hermione growled.

Harry was worried about Ron and Hermione's relationship; it seemed as though they were starting to fall apart, fast, and things only seemed to deteriorate as the days leading up to Valentine's Day progressed.

Arguments became commonplace, oftentimes happening in the middle of a lesson leaving Harry stuck awkwardly between the two of them, and their attitude towards each other plummeted dramatically. By the time the morning of Valentine's Day arrived, they were both at breaking point.

Oliver had decided to at least try and help them when Harry had told him about their many altercations, but nothing seemed to be working, not even when Oliver suggested that they go out on a date to try and reignite the old flame.

"Maybe we should just leave them to it," Harry said timidly after an argument between Ron and Hermione broke out in the cottage the day before.

"We can't have them arguing around James Sirius, sweetheart," Oliver said sternly, and, as much as it pained him to do it, he ejected them out of the door.

Now, Harry sat in between them during class on Valentine's Day, noticing the dark glares that Hermione was attempting to stab Ron with. The only thing that pulled him through that day's lessons was the fact that he would be going somewhere special with Oliver for the night, although it helped considerably that neither Ron nor Hermione acted any differently towards him.

"You're still able to look after James Sirius, aren't you?" Harry said tentatively.

"Of course," Hermione said, almost jubilantly. "I can't wait."

Finally, the end of lessons arrived, and it was time for Harry to go with Oliver to their 'love location', as it had been dubbed. Before he returned to the cottage, however, Harry made a quick detour to a jewellery store in Hogsmeade, where he picked out a simple silver band engraved with very small diamond Snitches, and for the pretty price of one hundred Galleons to match.

He stowed the box in his pocket away from Oliver's eyes as he stepped over the threshold into the cottage, where Hermione was already playing with James Sirius in the living room.

Oliver looked more breathtaking than Harry thought could have ever been possible; chiselled features accentuated to perfection by the giddy firelight, he looked like some sort of divine presence, and Harry could feel himself melting, somewhat subconsciously, into his arms when he was swept off his feet.

"You don't honestly think I'm not going to make this as romantic as possible, do you?" Oliver chortled as he carried Harry out into the hallway.

"If I know you as well as I think I do, you're going to be the sweetest man in the world," Harry smirked. Then he called to Hermione in the living room. "Are you sure you'll be fine here tonight, Hermione?"

"Yes, I'll be perfectly alright!" Hermione said happily. "I've got the TV to watch when James Sirius goes to sleep and I can entertain him until then."

"Help yourself to anything in the fridge!" Oliver added. "Dobby, you listen to Hermione's orders, alright?"

"Of course, sir! Dobby likes Miss Granger!" Dobby bowed low and trotted off into the living room, where they could hear Hermione's insistence that Dobby take the night off.

"She never changes," Harry snickered as they left the comfortable warmth of the cottage behind, Disapparating to an unknown destination.


	3. Love and Daggers

**Chapter Three – Love and Daggers**

The weather was just as bleary and wet as it was back in Hogsmeade when Harry and Oliver Apparated in front of a towering, fancy-looking building, from which protruded several ugly, stone gargoyles. It was clear from the outset that this was a hotel; a long line of astutely-dressed men and women ran down the length of the street, and Harry suddenly felt remarkably underdressed as Oliver walked into the building, the same, peculiar bag he had bought when he got some potion for Harry dangling off his wrist. Whatever it was inside it jangled about noisily.

The filthy stares that the men and women sent towards their commonly-dressed forms would have been sharp enough to kill if they were knives, and Harry was very glad when Oliver paced up to the front desk inside an antique, cathedral-like foyer, issued the receptionist with a printed voucher and then made his way down another exquisitely-decorated corridor, eventually climbing into a compact elevator which made Harry, although supported fully in Oliver's arms, feel very cramped.

"I can't wait to get you into that room…" Oliver muttered under his breath, even though they were the only ones in the elevator.

"Me neither," Harry replied. "What's in the bag?"

"You'll see…"

Oliver remained mysteriously silent as they ascended seven floors, heading up to the room which Harry hoped would be the centre of plenty of moans and groans, and maybe even wails and screams.

It almost became too much for him to bear, that was until Oliver carried him over the threshold of their room.

Lit by a single candle on a table, which held two steaming plates of scrumptious-looking food, there was no denying that the atmosphere in here was at its romantic peak. Oliver had outdone himself this time; of that much Harry was certain. Luxurious, velvet curtains hung from a high glass window that led out onto a balcony, which overlooked a heart-stopping, breathtaking view of a city. Silhouetted against a canvas of darkness, its twinkling lights burned brightly beneath an inky, star-strewn sky, and the subtle rays of the guardian-like moon beamed down upon the hotel, stretching across a patch of fluffy, crimson carpet as it crept into the room. Barely visible to one side of the room was a four-poster bed. Not dissimilar to the four-posters Harry had been used to in Gryffindor Tower, this bed was laid with ruby, silken sheets, but that was pretty much all Harry could make out about it for now. He made a mental note to inspect it later, as he was very certain he would be…

"You've outdone yourself this time," he said with a gasp. "How long have you had this planned?"

"I've been thinking about ways that I could serenade you for Valentine's Day since Christmas," Oliver admitted sheepishly. "It's not too much, is it?"

"It's never too much," Harry said huskily, and he drew himself closer to Oliver such that he could see his own reflection in the other man's vast, hazel pools.

Their lips ghosted across each other, and it soon became apparent to Harry that he had never been more attracted to Oliver. The warm glow of the moonlight illuminated one half of Oliver's chiselled face, the candle giving the other side a slight orange tint, and Harry felt himself swooning on the spot.

"What's in the bag?" Harry asked again.

"You'll see..." Oliver repeated. "For now, we're going to have a nice, romantic dinner. I've got something for you..."

Oliver dug into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a delicate, velvet box. He sat down at the table and motioned for Harry to do the same. Then, with the charismatic aroma of chicken and barley wafting up from their plates, titillating their nostrils, Oliver handed Harry the box.

Knowing that it would be something extravagant, as gifts from Oliver always were, Harry prised open the box to reveal an ornate, golden bracelet, inscribed into which was a scrolling message.

_'To my wonderful Harry, father to James Sirius and the most amazing husband in the world, I love you to the ends of the Earth. Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart. xxx'_

"Ollie..." Harry said quietly, placing a hand to his chest. "It's beautiful..."

"Just like you..." Oliver whispered, and he gazed endlessly into Harry's eyes, proffering a hand for Harry to take. "I love you so much, sweetheart..."

"I love you too, baby..." Harry said, fighting back a wave of tears, and he took Oliver's hand. With a voice about to break, he then said, "This cost a lot of money, but you're definitely worth every penny spent..."

He dipped in the pocket of his jacket, which he had hung loosely over the back of the chair, and pulled out the box with the ring in, realising that this box looked remarkably similar to the one that Oliver had given him. He handed it to Oliver.

"Thank you," Oliver said, smiling.

He opened up the box, even slower than when Harry had opened his gift, and then gasped when he noticed the ring.

"Harry, I don't know what to say... It's... perfect..."

"My Keeper only deserves perfection," Harry said, and leaned across the table to give Oliver a sweet kiss.

The ring looked at home as Oliver slid it on his finger. The simple, silver band, engraved with tiny diamond Snitches, glittered in the dull light. It was a perfect fit for Oliver, and the clarity of the jewels only served to make him look even more breathtaking than ever.

"I've got a couple of other things planned for after our meal," Oliver said secretively. "I think you'll find them to be quite… _intriguing_…"

"I look forward to it," Harry said, his mind trailing off into daydreams of the things that he and Oliver were going to do in bed.

In silence, but still casting the odd glance across the table towards each other, they ate their meal, which tasted divine. For ten minutes, there was not a sound but the clattering of cutlery, and every now-and-then Harry would catch a flicker of a smile on Oliver's lips.

Eventually, they had finished their meal of chicken, basil and tomatoes, and the hungry glints in their eyes told the other that it was time to move things over to the bed.

"You said you were going to serenade me," Harry placed himself down on the bed in a manner that alerted Oliver's senses. "Go on then, Romeo."

Oliver perched himself on the edge of the mattress, the bag of knickknacks waiting on the floor, and then he leaned in to kiss Harry, which was accepted with intense fervour. He broke away from the kiss, and Harry looked disappointed.

"That was just a warm-up kiss," Oliver said, and he swept a hand through Harry's jet-black mane. "Now for the serenading…"

"What are you going to do? Are you going to feel me up?" Harry winked and made to take off his shirt, but Oliver stopped him.

"_It's a beautiful night…"_ Oliver sang.

"Ollie?"

"_We're looking for something fun to do…"_

"Ollie…"

"_Hey, Harry… I want to make love to you…"_

"You're so sweet," Harry said, and he was consumed by a warm, fuzzy feeling. He closed his eyes, listening intently to his husband's angelic chorus, and when he felt arms snaking their way around his waist, he allowed himself to be pulled into the oncoming embrace. Oliver's breath ghosted across Harry's cheek as they fell backwards onto the silken sheets, and the singing continued.

"_Is it the look your eyes, or is it this dancing juice?_" Oliver grabbed a bottle of unopened wine from the bedside table. "_Who cares, Harry… I'm really glad I married you._"

"I'm really glad I married you too, Ollie…"

"_Don't say no, no, no, no, no_," Oliver pulled his shirt up an inch at every instance of the word 'no', it coming off completely at the last syllable. The message to Harry was clear; he started removing his own shirt as Oliver continued to sing. "_Just say yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. And we'll go, go, go, go, go. If you're ready, like I'm ready?_"

"I'm ready…" Harry muttered, and he encapsulated Oliver's lips before the song could carry on. "I love you, Ollie…"

"I love you too, Harry…"

Wearing nothing but their pants, they rolled around together on the bed, kissing fervently. Harry pinned Oliver down by the arms, straddling his waist, and immediately stated to suckle on his neck, earning a subtle, gratified gasp.

Then Oliver turned the tables on him and flipped them both over until it was Harry being pinned down by Oliver.

"You cheeky devil," Harry chuckled. "And here's me thinking that I'd be able to dominate you tonight…"

"Hmmm… I don't know…" Oliver winked.

"What don't you- ohhhh!" Harry's breathing was cut short as Oliver dived for his neck, scraping his teeth across the sensitive skin and trailing his way up towards Harry's jaw.

He ensnared Harry's lips once again and started to rotate his hips in a continuous, circular motion, enjoying the friction between his growing length and the fabric of his trousers.

As Oliver returned to servicing his neck, Harry dug his fingers deeply into Oliver's back and clawed upwards, knowing that Oliver would be feeling it for days. Oliver growled against Harry's skin, and the vibrations tickled him.

"You kinky swine…"

Harry slipped his hands inside Oliver's trousers and cupped his arse, then teethed at his earlobe, muttering, "You liked it though…"

"Completely…"

Harry gave a hard push and Oliver's trousers slipped down slightly, revealing the tanned butt cheeks beneath and uncovering the steadily-hardening appendage at the front.

Kicking his pants and underwear onto the floor, leaving him wearing nothing but his birthday suit, Oliver shifted down Harry's body. He unleashed his tongue and circled Harry's perked up nipples, flicking occasionally and savouring the subdued moans which came as a result.

Then he went one step further; his tongue wriggled back inside his mouth and he bared his teeth, brushing their smooth surface across the rosy buds. He lightly squeezed Harry's nipples, worrying them in between his teeth as he alternated between sucking, licking and nibbling. Harry's gasps of pleasure only served to increase Oliver's hunger for the man he loved oh-so-much.

Then Oliver released his tongue once again, and this time he allowed it to slither down Harry's bare torso as he, himself, inched closer towards the waistband of Harry's trousers.

Oliver made to undo the buckle, assisted by Harry's hands. With a hard tug, Harry's trousers came free, along with his pants, and Oliver slid them down Harry's legs, leaving them both wearing not a morsel of clothing.

"So what are these 'couple of things' you've got planned for me?" Harry breathed, and then yelped when Oliver's tongue dug into his naval.

"You want to see?" Oliver smirked. Then, when Harry had gave him the go-ahead, he reached down to the side of the bed to get the bag, the contents of which he poured onto the sheets.

"Oh my…" Harry said in awe, and he stared at the various tools and knickknacks that were scattered before him. "Sex toys?"

Oliver simply nodded, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. He said, "If you don't want to, I can just leave them at the side and we can use them when you feel like it."

"Oh, I feel like it…" Harry muttered huskily, and he snapped his arms around Oliver's neck to pull him into a fiery kiss.

At this point, their dicks had grown considerably hard and they now throbbed against one another as Harry and Oliver kissed with deepest hunger. On occasion, the appendages grinded together, and it sent shards through Harry and Oliver's bodies.

"Ollie…"

"Harry…"

"Ollie, I want to use one of the toys…"

Oliver pulled away from the kiss and gazed at Harry, allowing his hand to trace mindless circles around Harry's naval. Then he grabbed the nearest toy he could see.

A butt plug; thin and rounded at the front and becoming gradually wider as Harry's eyes scanned further down it, it looked as though it was too big to fit in his arse. But then he remembered that Oliver was much bigger than the toy in front of him, and Harry was able to take the whole of Oliver's length inside him. The flanged end did little to ease his fear that it would be lost inside him, however.

"Let's get some lube," Oliver said, and he rifled through the pile of toys, eventually plucking out a clear bottle of bluish fluid. "Who's going first?"

"Get on your hands and knees, big boy," Harry grinned mischievously.

Oliver chuckled, then did as he was told. He swept the toys to one side of the bed and leaned forward on the palms of his hands, his knees supporting his lower body and his legs separated marginally.

"Might be a bit cold…" Harry warned him.

Harry squirted a generous amount of lubricant on his hand, then rubbed it into Oliver's hole, where he placed the tip of the butt plug.

"Ready, baby?"

"I'm ready," said Oliver.

With a gentle push, the end of the butt plug slid inside, and Oliver hissed; the toy stretched his arse muscles as it went further inside until it could go no more. The instrument brushed over Oliver's prostate; stars burst in front of his eyes, and he immediately started to rock backwards and forwards to achieve his gratification.

Oliver's scrunched-up face showed the signs of the inner war his body had become engaged in, and Harry decided to help him further by shifting his position so that Oliver's dangling, leaking cock was just above his lips. His hand still clasped on the butt plug and providing support for Oliver to slowly stimulate himself, Harry opened his mouth and raised his head until the back of his throat was hit by a log of flesh.

"Harry!" Oliver cried.

Hearing Oliver's cries only turned Harry on even more, and he tended to his own painful erection as Oliver accepted his ministrations. Moving his head up and down the pulsing length that jabbed at his throat, Harry swirled his tongue around the head and shaft, and it wasn't long before Oliver's cries turned into raucous growls, which escalated into full wails of intense pleasure.

An almighty roar exploded above Harry's head, and his mouth was pumped with ropes of hot, sweet cum as Oliver shuddered uncontrollably. Harry withdrew the butt plug from Oliver and moved out from underneath him.

He took hold of a different toy from the bed while Oliver's breathing levelled out.

"How was that?" he asked.

"You… have… no… idea…" Oliver panted, now spread-eagle on the bed.

Although he'd just had what Harry thought to be a very explosive orgasm, his dick remained as hard as ever, and it twitched in the moonlight. It was only now that Harry truly realised just how beautiful Oliver was; covered in sweat, semen and panting for air, he looked divine. His length held the power and appearance of a stallion, but Harry knew it to have the fragility and delicacy of a flower.

"My turn…" Harry muttered, and he laid on the bed, facing Oliver, with his legs open, the toy (a dildo) balanced at his entrance. "You up to it?"

"I'm always up to it…" Oliver grunted, having finally collated his breath.

He took hold of the dildo. He squeezed the bottle until a worm of blue liquid wriggled out of the cap and into the small space between the end of the dildo and Harry's hole.

"Here we go…"

There was something quite strange about having a dildo inside him, Harry thought. It felt good; he couldn't deny that. But it didn't feel right. It was as though there someone else inside him, someone who wasn't Oliver, and even though the man he loved was right beside him, he couldn't help but feel empty. He didn't want this; he wanted Oliver in mind, body and soul. He wanted pleasure from the one he called his husband, not a meaningless, rubber instrument, and he quickly changed his mind; withdrawing from the rude intruder, Harry glanced at Oliver with teary eyes.

"It's not right…" he said. "It's not you. Ollie, I want to feel you inside me. Only you can give me what I want- no, what I _need_. Baby… I need love from you, not some soulless toy…"

Oliver said nothing, instead giving him an understanding look and a reassuring stroke on the back. Then they pressed their lips together, Oliver finally muttering, "I understand. It didn't feel right when I was using the butt plug, either. My Harry, my amazing Harry, I'll always be here to give you love… I love you, sweetheart…"

"I love you too, baby," Harry whispered. "Please, enter me…"

Smiling warmly, his dick pulsing in between the cheeks of Harry's arse, Oliver swept the whole collection of toys from the damp bed sheets.

"Get comfortable first," Oliver stroked a finger genially down Harry's cheek. "I want this to be special…"

Harry, arms wrapped around his husband's neck, pulled Oliver down with him and he laid in a comfortable position on the bed, with his legs at either side of Oliver's waist.

"Baby… push…"

Oliver's lips entangled themselves with Harry's as he pushed forward, and his dick slipped inside Harry's arse with considerable ease. It was obvious that this was what Harry craved from the moment the head of Oliver's cock tapped against his prostate; the muscles clamped down, and Oliver's body was suddenly on fire as he became filled with the glorifying heat that Harry always supplied him with.

"Ollie!" Harry shouted. "This feels so perfect… Make love to me…"

Laying flat across Harry's body, Oliver flicked, licked and caressed Harry's neck as he started to thrust, initially slowly, in and out, gradually picking up speed.

It was driving Harry crazy, and from the moment that Oliver's lips touched his skin, they were both lost in their own special paradise.

Hands roamed wherever they pleased and calls of each other's name punctured the air as they waltzed together on the bed, Harry's legs trapping Oliver inside him. Oliver didn't care about his current predicament, and his thrusting carried on as they both moaned in a synchronised chorus of pleasure, for neither of them had ever really realised just how much they meant to the other.

Oliver's desire for Harry fuelled his meaningful thrusts, and Harry accepted each slam into his prostate with an unquenchable thirst for gratification, which only grew more intense as he and Oliver gazed deeply into the other's eyes.

Moonlight continued to flood in through the window, illuminating the lower half of Harry and Oliver's bodies, and the sounds of the night emphasised just how romantic the whole situation was. Sweet nothings flowed freely from the tips of the two men's tongues as they melted in each other's arms, merging into one, single soul as the boundaries of their love broke down completely.

Unified in mind, body and soul, just as Harry wanted, they groaned into each other's mouth as wave after wave of pleasure riddled their existence.

"Baby, I love you so much…" Harry moaned, and he allowed a stream of tears to flood his cheeks.

"I love you too, Snitchy," Oliver whispered, his eyes shimmering in the light cast by the candle, which was almost at the point of being a stub. "Your arse feels so good…"

"You feel so good inside me… Ohhhhhhhh! I don't know how long I can last…"

"I'm almost there, sweetheart… Wait for me and we can come together…"

"Ollie…"

"Harry…"

"_Ol-_!"

"_Rry_!"

With a simultaneous scream of immeasurable and incalculable pleasure, Harry and Oliver soared into the realms of love, romance and paradise as the force of their orgasms almost dislodged their minds.

Oliver erupted inside Harry with such force that his entire load fired out of the man beneath him, and Harry's arms trapped Oliver's chest in a vice-like grip as his swollen cock blasted an endless stream of semen that plastered itself up the velvet curtains of the four-poster bed.

Collapsing on top of Harry, panting and wheezing as he involuntarily shuddered from the aftershocks of his orgasm, Oliver shoved his tongue into his husband's mouth to share his untameable love.

"That was…" Harry's laboured breathing was the only sound in the room. "So… amazing…"

"You deserve amazing…" Oliver stated simply. "My wonderful, wonderful Harry… I love you, sweetheart…"

"I love you too," Harry said with shining eyes.

Oliver noticed the tears streaked down Harry's cheeks and gently wiped them away with his thumb.

Not even bothering to climb into the cum-soaked covers, Harry and Oliver snaked their arms around each other and snuggled, with Harry nuzzling deeply into Oliver's chest as he always did.

"Happy Valentine's Day," they said quietly, in complete unison.

Chuckling to themselves, consciousness ebbed away from them, and it wasn't long before they were asleep, perfectly content with their lives, entangled together on the bed.

The next morning came a lot faster than Harry would have liked. As opposed to the beauty of the night before, the weather on the fifteen of February hardly suggested that anything romantic had taken place; a sullen-looking sky hung low over the buildings of the city in the distance and a murky drizzle soaked any who were out in it for longer than ten seconds.

Harry woke slowly, sticky from his and Oliver's love-making session, to find that his husband was mindlessly twirling his hair in his fingers.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Oliver said, his voice being incredibly pleasing upon Harry's ears. "Good rest?"

"Perfect," Harry said dreamily, and he reached up to kiss Oliver's chin. "Nothing is better than laying with you…"

"I love you, Snitchy," Oliver said. It was now second nature for him to say this as many times as possible each day.

"I love you too, baby…"

"We'd best be getting ready to go," Oliver said. "The room is only booked until noon and it's eleven o'clock as it is…"

"Alright," Harry said, climbing out of bed.

He cast a few cleaning spells on the bed, packed the sex toys and lubricant back in the bag, and threw on the previous day's set of clothes, with Oliver doing the same.

Before long, they had both gotten dressed and tidied up, leaving ten Galleons on the counter for the maid as a tip. They left the hotel, hand-in-hand, their new gifts gleaming despite the dreary weather, smiling from ear-to-ear after the previous night's escapades, and made their way into a nearby alley.

"It's a shame that it had to end, isn't it?" Harry said glumly.

"I know," Oliver said comfortingly, and he gave Harry a loving hug. "But at least we get to see our baby again."

"That's true…"

Harry took hold of Oliver's outstretched hand, from which glittered the expensive silver ring he had bought him, and then felt the ground being pulled out from under him like a rug. Once the horribly familiar compression of his eardrums had passed, Harry swallowed deep fresh breaths of country air as they Apparated outside of their cottage.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Police tape had been drawn all around the cottage and a forensics team could be seen pottering about in the living room. Harry's heart fell through the floor even more when he saw that there was an ambulance driving off into the distance.

"Harry! Oliver! Thank goodness you're both here!" it was Mr Granger. Lily was running alongside him as they came up the driveway. Thankfully, James Sirius was being pushed in his pram by James.

"Mr Granger? Mum? Dad?" Harry said in shock. "What happened?!"

"Hermione's been stabbed."


	4. A Close Call

**Chapter Four – A Close Call **

"When you two went to your hotel for the night, Ron showed up," Lily said quickly.

"He and Hermione got into an argument," Mr Granger continued. "Hermione said she wanted to break up. Ron lost it. He grabbed a knife from the kitchen and tried to stab her and James Sirius, so she sent a Patronus to your mother and father, who then sent a Patronus to her mother and myself. We came as fast as we could."

"When we got here, the damage was already done," James said gravely. "The ambulance crew and police arrived shortly after we did. It's a good thing that Muggles have started to move in nearby, otherwise she might not have been as lucky."

"I lost my life once and I came back for Hermione! I'm not going to let her leave my life a second time!" Ron, shackled and bound, was dragged out of the cottage by four police officers, completely soaked in blood.

He appeared as though he had came out of a horror film; bloodshot, endlessly-staring eyes pierced through Harry's gut, and there was something unnervingly different about him, but Harry just couldn't put his finger on it. The most he could do was stare in terror as his 'best friend', or whatever the hell it was, was shoved into the back of a police car.

"Officer!" Harry called to a police woman who was stood on her own next to a police, the lights of which were flashing blindingly.

She was rather short and dumpy, but her face was very kind and she looked to be in her mid-thirties.

"Yes?" she said with a clean-cut voice.

"The victim – Hermione Granger – how is she?"

"The paramedics had to sedate her; she's lost a lot of blood. But they've taken her to the hospital in the ambulance. One of our squad cars can take you and her father up there now, if you want? If I remember correctly, her mother went in the ambulance with her."

"Yes," Oliver said at once. "Lily, James, you two can look after James Sirius while we're gone, can't you?"

"Definitely," Lily said. "We'll be at Godric's Hollow when you get back so you can pick him up from there."

"We'd best get going," Harry and Oliver were led over to the police car after giving James Sirius one final hug and kiss, Mr Granger following them.

They climbed into it, and in a matter of minutes they were hurtling down a highway towards the hospital, tailing the ambulance so close that the bonnet of the car was almost touching the bumper in front.

Trees, rain and mist whizzed by as Harry fretted for Hermione's life. If she died, then the 'Golden Trio' would be no more; Ron would be in Azkaban for murder and Hermione would be six feet under the ground. Where would Harry be? He'd be living his life with his husband and son without the two people who helped him as he adjusted to living in the wizarding world.

"Sweetheart…" Oliver said gently, noticing the flood of tears down Harry's cheeks and pulling him into a hug. "She'll be fine, I promise."

"How do you know that?" Harry sobbed. "What if she dies? What if I lose my best friend? What if she dies and Ron goes to prison? My two best friends will be gone from my life!"

"Harry…" Oliver said soothingly, and he stroked Harry's back as he held him. "I know that there isn't anything I can say to make you feel better, but we just need to hope for the best."

"I can't hope for the best knowing that death is just around the corner," Harry glanced up at Oliver with a stern look, his eyes remaining resolutely hard.

His anger was short-lived, however; Oliver tangled their lips together before the tirade could continue, and all forms of stress and irritation were washed away in that moment as they kissed.

"Harry, please," Oliver implored him. "Trust me. She'll be fine."

"Alright…" Harry sighed, resting his head on Oliver's shoulder. "I love you, baby…"

"I love you too, sweetheart," Oliver reciprocated, placing a kiss to Harry's forehead. "Any idea how long it will be before we get to the hospital, Officer… Officer… Actually, I don't think I quite got your name."

"Officer Burns," she said. "We should be at the hospital in about five minutes."

"Five minutes of hugging, coming right up," Oliver said, and he pulled Harry into the most loving embrace he could muster.

Harry nuzzled into Oliver's shirt as they rattled off the highway onto a dirt track. Five minutes later, exactly as predicted, they stopped outside a surprisingly compact building dotted with signs leading to the different departments.

The ambulance Hermione was in had shuddered to a halt in front of the entrance to Accident & Emergency, and two paramedics burst out of the doors at the back, pulling the trolley with her unconscious form along, Mrs Granger galloping along after them as they rocketed into the hospital. Harry, Oliver and Mr Granger jumped out of the car and followed suit.

It was like a maze inside the hospital; an immaculate, casualty-filled maze.

Hermione clattered down through the corridors on the rickety trolley, Harry, Oliver and Mr and Mrs Granger following with intense resolve to see her through her injury.

When at last they reached a cubicle, a herd of four nurses hoisted her onto the bed. A doctor started quizzing Mr and Mrs Granger on Hermione's medical history while Harry sat on a chair next to the bed, holding the girl's hand, Oliver standing right behind him.

"This is a new requirement for hospitals," the doctor said. "Is she magical or non-magical?"

"Magical," Mrs Granger said so fast that it was almost impossible to understand it.

"In that case, I'll call a Healer. She'll be fine. I'll just need to ask you all to wait outside while we perform a few checks to see if everything is okay."

On the wall was a buzzer labelled 'Healer Call', which he pressed, and after being bulldozed out of the cubicle by one of the nurses, a Healer in a lime green uniform bustled down the corridor pulling a tray full of potions.

Harry, Oliver and Mr and Mrs Granger waited patiently in the reception area of the hospital whilst the tests on Hermione were run, and after two painstaking hours of sheer boredom (Harry had gone to the extreme of Transfiguring his fingers into carrots and back), the doctor finally emerged.

"She'll make a full recovery," the doctor said happily. "The Healer managed to stem the blood flow and the nurses and myself were able to suture up the stab wound. She was quite lucky to escape with only minor injuries. For the next few weeks, she'll need plenty of bed rest. We'll keep her in tonight under observation, but she should be able to go home tomorrow."

"And school?" Mr Granger. "She's still at Hogwarts. It's her final year; she'll miss a lot of work."

"She won't," Harry said confidently. "Knowing Hermione, the moment we get back she'll be wanting to stay in the Hospital Wing if she can't go to lessons. She'll have work sent up to her, no doubt."

"Can we see her yet?" Mrs Granger asked worriedly. "Is she awake?"

"She's sleeping, but you can visit her. Follow me."

The doctor led the small group back through the pristine, labyrinthine corridors until they were at the familiar cubicle where they knew Hermione to be resting. Instinctively, Harry wrapped his hand in Oliver's. Oliver gave it a minute, comforting squeeze.

The doctor pulled back the curtain to reveal Hermione, face sunk-in and eyelids like deep-purple leaves, laying stiffly on the bed wearing only a hospital gown. As peaceful as she looked at that moment, there was no ignoring the telltale signs of a struggle that were displayed all across her body; bruises littered her arms and legs and a few specks of dried blood still remained on her skin. A bag beneath the bed contained her shredded, blood-stained clothing.

"Hermione…" Mrs Granger gasped back tears and sat beside her daughter, clasping her hand and kissing it gently. "What did he do to you…"

"How could he do something like this…" Harry rested his head in his palms after he had taken the bag out from under the bed and chose a seat for himself, Oliver sitting in the chair next to him.

Oliver placed a soothing hand on Harry's shoulder and said, "He not once showed any signs of wanting to kill…"

"Wait until I get my hands on him…" Mr Granger growled. "He won't know what hit him."

"M-Mum… Dad…"

"Hermione!" Mrs Granger cried with glee. She pulled Hermione into a motherly hug. "You're awake!"

"W-Water…" Hermione croaked.

"Tilt your head back, Hermione," Harry instructed her, and she did as he asked. He placed the tip of his wand to Hermione's lower lip and muttered, "_Aguamenti!_"

Hermione lapped up the conjured water gratefully, her heavily-scratched face swollen almost to the point of making her unrecognisable and her hair clumped together by congealed blood.

"Thank you, Harry…" Hermione said, her voice sounding somewhat cleaner.

"What happened?" Mrs Granger said quietly.

"I-I don't really remember…" Hermione said, rubbing her head. "It's all a bit of a blur, really. I was in the kitchen making a cup of tea. The next minute, Ron came barging in screaming about how he was sick of me leaving him alone overnight. Last night was the first time he was on his own, so I haven't got a clue where his outburst came from. I told that I was sick of his clingy nature and that I wanted to break up with him. But he grabbed a knife and chased me _and_ the baby around the house. He cornered us and went to kill the baby first, but I threw myself in front of the knife before it could hurt him. I'm not too sure what happened after that – everything went black – but I remember hearing Ron storm out of the room. I have no idea how long I was there before Ron came back into the room. I was too injured to move, but his face when he saw that I was still alive will haunt me for the rest of my life. He tried to slit my throat for good measure, but a police officer dragged him off me before he could make the cut. I was put onto a stretcher while the baby was checked over. I'm guessing he was fine; he was gurgling away as though nothing had happened."

"You remembered an awful lot considering you've been bashed about the head and whatnot," Mr Granger said in surprise.

"There's more to the story, Dad; I just can't remember…"

"Surely, you can remember more than that!" Mr Granger urged her.

"Even if she did remember the whole story, what difference would it make to Ron's fate?" said Mrs Granger. "He was caught red-handed trying to commit not just murder but infanticide as well."

"What are your opinions on all of this, you two?" Hermione suddenly said to Harry and Oliver.

"I think Ron's going to pay for attacking our little boy," Oliver said darkly.

"I never thought I'd see the day that my once best friend would turn on us so badly that he would try and attack a defenceless child…" Harry muttered. "If I see him, he's dead."

"You two have certainly changed your personalities quickly," Mrs Granger said in an alarmed tone of voice.

"You mess with our family, you're messing with us," Harry said flatly. "You mess with us you die, plain and simple. We did it with the Nocturnimagi and we did it with Xavier, Blue Swan and Shadow Dragon. I think we can handle a weakling like Ron."

"I'm not too sure…" Hermione said warily. "He was a _lot_ stronger than he looked back at the cottage…"

Just then, Officer Burns paced through the ward and into the cubicle with a notepad and pen in hand.

"We have Ron down at the police station," she said. "He's not responding to any questions at all but we've got him on a charge of attempted murder. He'll go to Azkaban where he'll await his trial. His wand has been snapped in half and he'll be banned from using magic for ten years."

"When is his trial?" Hermione asked, fidgeting where she lay.

"Not until July the twenty third," Officer Burns said, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "You two will have graduated from Hogwarts by then, so you can just get on with your lives without having to worry. He'll get his comeuppance."

"And so he should," Harry grumbled.

Officer Burns turned to Hermione. "I need a statement from you."

"I'm far too tired and sore to give any statement just yet," Hermione waved her hand lazily. "I just want to get some sleep."

"I'll let you get some rest then," Officer Burns said courteously. "What about the other four?"

"We have things we need to discuss," Hermione said implicitly.

Office Burns said nothing. Instead, she simply walked out of the ward, leaving Hermione and the others to talk amongst themselves.

The next hour was filled with polite conversation about the previous night (although, Harry and Oliver forewent the details of their bedtime shenanigans).

"He is such a good baby!" Hermione said happily. "Not once did he cry while I was looking after him. He just kept on gurgling and babbling to himself."

"Really?" Harry and Oliver said in unison. "He cries often when we're at home…"

"Really," said Hermione. "When it came to putting him down to sleep, he was out like a light bulb."

"I think he likes his Aunt Hermione," Oliver smiled.

"So do I," agreed Harry.

"You realise that you won't be leaving the hospital tonight, don't you?" Mrs Granger said to Hermione.

"You mean I have to miss another day of lessons tomorrow?" Hermione said exasperatedly.

"Unfortunately, yes," Mr Granger said gravely. "The doctor wants you to stay in for observation while you recover."

"But I feel fine!" Hermione argued. "Dad, could you go and get the doctor for me, please?"

"The doctor is already here," a low voice called from beyond the curtain of the cubicle. When the source unveiled itself, Harry saw that it was a quite unremarkable-looking man. Rather plain and boring, everything about him oozed with experience, albeit completely meaningless to the group right now. "Miss Hermione Jean Granger, is it?"

"Yes."

"You're in for observation tonight. No arguments. We need to keep a close eye on you."

"Is she in here?" the sound of someone very familiar echoed throughout the empty ward, and their footsteps grew heavier as they advanced towards the cubicle.

Out from behind the curtain came the brown-haired, slim-built form of Sarah Hunter, the Midwitch who had helped Harry and Oliver bring Blue Swan and Xavier down for good. She was tailed by a friendly, bubblegum pink-haired woman; Rebekah Kelly, who had also played a part in the saving of the Universe.

"Hermione, what happened?" Rebekah said concernedly.

Hermione filled them in on what had went down in the cottage, including the attack on James Sirius.

"That bastard…" Sarah said lowly.

"I bet you two will be on the warpath," Rebekah nodded towards Harry and Oliver.

"That's putting it a little lightly, but you've got the basic idea, yeah," Harry said bitterly.

"Alright, I'm feeling really tired now," Hermione announced. "I need to get to sleep. Harry, could you ask the teachers to send some work to me while I'm recovering, please?"

Mrs Granger perked up at this point. "I don't want you doing any work while you're-"

"I'll have nothing else to do and I don't want to fall behind," Hermione interjected, raising her hand to put an end to the matter.

"Yeah, I can do that for you, Hermione," Harry said with a smile. "It shouldn't take long for you to recover if it's only a minor wound. I would say you'll be back in action in about a week."

"Good," Hermione. "Now, if you all don't mind, could you leave me alone to get some rest?"

"Of course," Oliver nodded, and he took Harry's hand as he led him out of the cubicle and through the hospital towards the exit.

For once in his life, Harry was glad to feel icy shards attacking his face. As he walked with Oliver through the almost-deserted parking lot away from the hospital, his breath misted in front of him and the sky was tinted a very subtle yellow by the glare of traffic lights in the distance. The air was very refreshing when compared to the humidity in the hospital's crowded corridors, but the smell of antiseptics followed them like a phantom as they made their way over a zebra crossing towards an empty field from which they would Disapparate to Godric's Hollow.

Harry glanced around once more at the overcast world around them, rain flecking his face and making it sting, then he took a hold of Oliver's outstretched hand, redoubling his grip when the grass was pulled sharply out from beneath his feet.


	5. Days Gone By

**Chapter Five – Days Gone By**

Back at Godric's Hollow, Harry and Oliver were greeted by Lily and James, James Sirius still in his pram wearing a brand new light blue baby grow, which had been bought for him, among other clothes, by his parents in the week before Valentine's Day. On the chest of the grow was a label that read:

_My Mummy says I'm cute_

"Yes, you are cute, aren't you?" Harry grinned widely and took his son into his arms. "Your Mummy is quite right."

James Sirius gazed up at him with innocent, beady eyes.

"Hello, little James," Oliver crooned. "Have you missed Mummy and Daddy?"

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Harry said conversationally to Lily and James. "I lost track of time at the hospital."

"It's nearly five o'clock," Lily answered. "You've been up there for a good few hours."

"How is Hermione, anyway?" said James.

"She's doing fine," Harry said gladly. "Little bit bruised and sore, but otherwise fine. The doctors are keeping her in overnight for observation, but she should be out tomorrow and back at Hogwarts by next week."

Harry and Oliver walked with Lily and James, the baby in Harry's arms, into the cottage. When they had settled down in the living room, it took half an hour for Harry and Oliver to fully explain to Lily and James what exactly had happened in the cottage.

"You mean to say that it was _Ron_ who stabbed Hermione?" Lily gasped.

Harry nodded. "We don't know why he did, exactly, but what we do know is that if we ever see him again, he's dead."

"Son, I don't want you becoming a killer," James said, stern for the first time Harry knew of.

"We've killed plenty of people already, albeit through self-defence, but the point still stands; we'll kill if we need to defend ourselves or our child."

"Just like any other parent…" Lily muttered.

"Exactly."

"Goodnight, little James," Oliver cooed above the Moses' basket which Dobby had brought down from the cottage.

It had taken a lot of convincing for the police officers to let Dobby take it, but when he told them that there was a baby without something to sleep on, they allowed it. Since Potter-Wood Cottage was now a crime scene, Harry and Oliver had to stay at Potter Cottage in Godric's Hollow, but at least they still had a bedroom to themselves (and a finally-quiet baby).

Oliver leaned down and placed a kiss to the baby's forehead, Harry doing the same shortly after, and climbed naked into bed.

"I love you, Ollie," Harry whispered in Oliver's ear, and he placed a gentle kiss to his neck.

"I love you too, Snitchy," Oliver said, smiling warmly and ensnaring Harry's lips.

"Last night was amazing…" Harry sighed dreamily as he nuzzled into Oliver's bare chest. "My perfect man…"

"It was, wasn't it?" Oliver replied. "How about going another round?"

"I think I might be able to manage that," Harry grinned cheekily.

He climbed on top of Oliver and immediately started to suckle on his neck, and Oliver's expert hands caressed his butt cheeks and back.

Oliver's hands dipped into the small gap between Harry's legs when he had finished tracing mindless patterns across Harry's back, and he felt Harry purring against his neck when he grasped the base of his slowly-hardening shaft.

"Never one to play games, eh Wood?" Harry said mischievously.

"You know it, Potter," Oliver replied, Harry's surname being pronounced with unyielding Scottish sexiness.

"There's something really sexy about you using my surname…" Harry growled into Oliver's neck.

"I could say the same," Oliver whispered, and he teethed at Harry's earlobe. "Let me grab the lube…"

Then the moment was lost to the sound of high-pitched wails.

"I've got it," Harry sighed, climbing off of Oliver and pulling on a clean pair of pants. "You just go off to sleep, Ollie; I don't know how long I'll be up with James."

"Alright," Oliver said disappointedly, snuggling up with the covers and forming some sort of half-man, half-sheet hybrid. "Have fun, Daddy. Night."

"Night, baby," Harry placed a kiss to Oliver's forehead and then took James Sirius out of his Moses' basket. "Come on, trouble, let's give you your feed."

It took almost an hour for Harry to finally get James Sirius quiet enough to take his bottle without struggling, and by that time the milk was stone cold, but a quick flick of Harry's wand eliminated that problem.

It was nothing short of a miracle that Lily and James remained asleep during James Sirius' bout of crying, but at least he was finally settling down to have his bottle of milk.

"You're lucky you're so beautiful and that Mummy and I love you so much," Harry said gently to his son.

The light sucking on the teat of the bottle sent miniscule tingles through Harry's arm, and within a couple of minutes his head was drooping as he was lulled into an involuntary sleep.

After another twenty minutes of Harry fighting to stay awake, James Sirius had finally finished his bottle and, to Harry's mixed annoyance and relief, fell straight to sleep.

"What am I going to do with you?" Harry chuckled to himself as he climbed the stairs.

When at last he was in the bedroom, Harry placed James Sirius back into the Moses' basket and climbed underneath the covers, only now realising just how cold it was downstairs.

"Cold?" Oliver mumbled. "Your nipples are digging into my back."

"They are?" Harry said embarrassedly. "Guess I need warming up, eh?"

"Come here," Oliver said, and he turned over to wrap his arms around Harry, pulling him close. Then he placed a kiss to Harry's forehead. "If this doesn't get you warm, nothing will."

"You always get me warm in one way or another," Harry smirked to himself, and nuzzled into Oliver's chest. "I love you, baby..."

"I love you too, sweetheart," Oliver gave Harry's cheek an affectionate peck, then he held him as close as he possibly could. "Still planning on being a teacher when you leave Hogwarts?"

"Of course," Harry said simply. "Why?"

"Just wondering," Oliver said innocently. "Night, Snitchy."

"Night, Ollie," Harry said dreamily.

And they snoozed together on the bed, entangled amongst each other, knowing that it would only be a few more months until Harry left Hogwarts for good. When he eventually did, Oliver knew that Harry would apply for the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, this would also mean that Harry wouldn't be spending his nights at home anymore; all teachers were required to stay at the castle overnight.

Oliver sighed to himself, half worriedly, half contentedly. He knew that he and James Sirius would be permitted to live with Harry at Hogwarts, and it would be a nice feeling to be around the students again, but he didn't want to leave the cottage behind.

"We won't have to give up the cottage, you know?" Harry said knowingly, startling Oliver from the light doze he had drifted off to. "We can just use it as a summer home."

"That's true," said Oliver, and he laid another kiss upon Harry's lips, happy with their sudden but effective compromise.

The next few weeks went so fast that Harry hardly knew what had happened to the time.

Oliver botched spells continued to work wonders for him in lessons, and at the rate he was going he would beat Hermione in the position of top student, which had the adverse effect of making the bedridden know-it-all grow extremely stressed such that when Harry visited her in the hospital wing, where she had been moved so she could study once her observation period had ended, after lessons had finished on a drizzly Friday afternoon, she threw a book at his head upon his announcement of getting the highest marks in Charms.

"You cheated!" she scolded him as he skulked out of the ward, clutching his throbbing head and cursing under his breath.

The rest of February went by in a flash, and there had been no sign of Garnet, Bridgett, Cobra, Lynx or Otter. This made Harry wonder what it was they had been getting up to; they hadn't told either he or Oliver of their plans for the future. Although, Garnet had said she wanted to travel the world and sort out the problems left over by Blue Swan's regime, so this gave Harry some inclination as to how long it could be before he would see her again; six months at the least, and even that would be making a rather optimistic prediction.

The others, however, Harry could not be certain about. None of them had any reason to want dissociate themselves from he or Oliver, so their distance over the past couple of weeks couldn't have been because they had decided to completely ignore them. An owl from Bridgett midway through March, though, eased Harry's nerves somewhat.

_Dear Harry and Oliver,  
I felt the need to assure you both that I'm not ignoring you. I decided to visit my family in America so I'm currently there right now. I should be back by July to see you graduate from Hogwarts.  
Best wishes,  
Bridgett Otero_

"That's nice," Oliver said as he read the letter over Harry's shoulder. "At least she cares enough to let us know where she is. I've always liked Bridgett."

Rebekah and Bridgett, although having made an arrangement to become as close friends as Bridgett had made them out to be, seemed to have yet to pull through with it; Rebekah took up a position as an Auror, and Eddy and Dominic, something of an item now, had set up their own business selling Pyrozome, a drug which grants a Muggle the ability to perform magic, albeit _very_ basic. So far, they had been raking in hundreds of thousands of pounds, and they had only been trading for three weeks.

Harry didn't doubt that their schedule would be full, so he understood completely as to why he and Oliver were hearing little from them. It was clear that they were both making efforts to maintain the friendship, though; every week, Harry and Oliver received a small bundle of coins with a formal-looking note attached, and oftentimes a small gift, such as a Rememberall or a Sneakoscope. The note read, always in the same hand, always the exact same phrase:

_We couldn't have made the world a better place if it hadn't been for either of you bringing us back to life. With Muggles becoming more accepting of magic, most of them even making attempts at becoming magical themselves, we're making huge profits and our life together is flourishing. Please accept this small amount of three hundred Galleons as way of a thank you._

"Three hundred Galleons?!" Oliver gasped when they had received the first batch of gold. "What the hell are we going to do with three hundred Galleons?!"

"I think I know someone who could use it when he's older," Harry said enigmatically with a glance towards a sleeping James Sirius.

Harry and Oliver agreed. They would put all the money from the bundles they were sent each week into a frozen vault at Gringotts; the money wouldn't be able to be withdrawn before James Sirius came of age. And so, Harry and Oliver had already provided their son with means to live a fairly easy life once he reached the age of seventeen.

As the days advanced further, entering April and changing from murky grey skies to bright blue horizons, and Hermione returned to classes, Harry struck up a unexpected rivalry. He and Hermione were always bickering about who would get the best results in the class, but their friendship had never been stronger.

Ron remained in Azkaban as he awaited his trial, but Hermione wasn't showing any signs of turmoil. In fact, during the second week of April and only a few days before Oliver's birthday (which Harry had planned a big night of sex for), she appeared as though she was the happiest girl at Hogwarts.

"What's made you so cheery?" Harry asked as Hermione practically jumped into her seat at the Gryffindor table at lunch.

"The fact that my attempted murderer is going to be sent to Azkaban for good," she replied jovially. "They can't find him innocent. Especially when he was caught red-handed trying to kill a woman and baby."

"You seem quite sure of that," Harry said amusedly. "I've got to say, I'm relieved he'll be going down for a long time. Although, I dread to think what it would be like if he ever managed to break out."

"Let's not think about that," Hermione said uncomfortably. "Besides, there are Dementors, guards, an entire sea and half the country to go before he can get back to us. We'll be completely fine, don't you worry."

Oliver's birthday arrived, and Harry was finally able to put his plans into action; on the morning, he got up extra early so that he could bring Oliver breakfast in bed and he ordered Dobby to stop any attempts made by the birthday boy to do housework. Instead, the most work that Oliver was allowed to do was to look after James Sirius.

When Harry returned from a very strenuous day of lessons at Hogwarts, he was determined to keep working on ways to make Oliver's special day even more special, and for the rest of the night he took up the duty of changing James Sirius' nappy, leaving Oliver to do the enjoyable things with their son, such as feeding.

That night, in bed, things were quick to get hot and heavy. Deciding to reverse their usual roles in love-making, Harry was the one giving Oliver everything.

"Harry..." Oliver moaned as Harry's tongue swirled around his swollen length. "I love you..."

"I love you too..." Harry whispered, and he lubricated Oliver's hole.

The following twenty minutes consisted of nothing but passionate and relentless sex, and Oliver's wails filled the room as they rocked together on the bed, rattling the headrest against the wall. James Sirius would have been disturbed from his sleep were it not for the strategically placed Soundproofing Charms Harry and Oliver had put in place before they started making love.

Even though Oliver's birthday was well and truly over, the 'birthday sex', as Harry had called it, continued through the weekend and into the middle of the week after.

On more than one occasion was Harry almost late for his lessons at Hogwarts, and a very stern-looking Professor McGonagall took him to one side during the first week of May when he lost track of time completely.

"Why are you so late, Potter-Wood? The lesson started twenty minutes ago!"

"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry said meaningfully. "James Sirius needed feeding and Oliver isn't feeling too well."

Harry wasn't lying. In the first week of May, Oliver had suddenly began experiencing sickness on a morning, which set the alarm bells for the both of them ringing very loudly. Oliver was taking pregnancy tests every day to make sure that his body was foetus-free; they weren't ready for another baby just yet. James Sirius was only three months old. It might not have been long before the baby could try to sit up unsupported, but Harry and Oliver were both determined to see him through his first steps before trying for another child.

"Ollie?" Harry said one night in bed. "I've been thinking..."

"What about, sweetheart?" Oliver replied, turning himself over to face Harry. "Is everything alright at Hogwarts? Do I need to have a word with any of the teachers?"

"What? Oh no, nothing to do with school," Harry said lowly. "It's about our family..."

"What about it?" Oliver asked with a confused expression.

"I was thinking... maybe... when James Sirius can walk... whether you'd consider giving him a little brother or sister..."

"Of course I would," Oliver said without even needing to think. "I'd do anything to have another baby. Although, it's a little too soon to be having another kid just yet."

"Really? We can try for another baby?" Harry said hopefully, and Oliver pulled him close.

"Really," Oliver nodded, placing a gentle kiss to Harry's lips. "But this time, _you're_ carrying it," he added with a cheeky smirk.

"Deal," said Harry, and he engaged Oliver in a passionate kiss full of tongue. Then he nuzzled himself deeply into the crook of Oliver's neck, delivering a few sweet pecks, before withdrawing and snuggling up to his tight chest.

The days in May went far too quickly for Harry's liking, and it was only when he was at last struck by the reality that his NEWT exams were only two weeks away that tensions really started to rise. Even though he had his plethora of spell-gained knowledge, it did very little to ease his nerves and anxiety. It even got to the point where he was taking his frustrations out on a very understanding Oliver, and once his bouts of intense rage had subsided, he skulked away in the bedroom to think things through. This often ended in a long session of unyielding tears, but he thanked the stars for giving him such a caring and understanding man as Oliver, who would always be there for him in his time of need, especially when he was finding it difficult to cope with the stresses of life as a seventh-year student.

"It'll all be over soon, sweetheart," Oliver soothed him on a particularly miserable day.

It broke Oliver's heart to see Harry in such a state and he would do anything in his power to make the transition from school to the real world as easy as possible. He usually did this by engaging Harry in the thing that they both loved the most; kissing and cuddling. This was something that Oliver knew had the capacity to calm Harry down; it worked the countless other times he had tried it, so why would this be any different?

With only a few days left until Harry's NEWTs began, tensions were at their highest in Potter-Wood Cottage, and Oliver realised that it was best for him to leave Harry alone when he was in an uncompromising mood.

"Sweetheart, if you just let me help you-"

"NO!" Harry roared. "I CAN DO THIS BY MYSELF! I _HAVE_ TO DO THIS BY MYSELF!"

"You don't," Oliver said calmly, unflinching despite Harry's anger. "I'm here for you, love. Please, don't suffer on your own. I love you too much to see you hurt, and it breaks my heart when I can't do anything to help you."

"It's so hard..." Harry sobbed. "I don't know how much more of this stress I can take."

"Harry..." Oliver pulled the crumbling man into his arms.

Harry cried for what must have been an hour before his emotions finally let up, and when he glanced up from Oliver's chest with red, puffy eyes, he immediately lunged for the other man's lips.

"I fucking love you to death..." he sniffed as he kissed fiercely with Oliver.

"I love you too, Snitchy," Oliver returned, but he shifted out from underneath Harry. "But these strops of yours are getting out of control. You need to see somebody."

"I don't," Harry said flatly. "I have ten exams to take. The three hardest ones are taking place on Thursday. I have four on Friday and the final three on Monday. This time next week, I'll have finished my exams."

"And I can have the old Harry back?" Oliver said optimistically.

"You can have the old Harry back," Harry chortled.

Thursday – the Day of Reckoning, as Harry dubbed it – arrived, and Harry's nerves were at their most on-edge.

"You'll be fine, you'll be absolutely fine," Oliver assured him repeatedly. Then, leaving a gentle kiss on Harry's forehead, he said, "Good luck."

Harry, Hermione and the other students paced into the Great Hall, where the house tables had been lined up against the walls and replaced by a sea of desks.

Sunlight flooded in through the high windows and warmed the back of Harry's neck as he perched himself nervously at the back of the Hall on a precarious chair that wobbled if he shifted his weight even marginally. Short leg, he thought to himself.

An elderly wizard at the front of the Great Hall announced, "Your Transfiguration exam will last precisely two hours. From the moment I overturn this hourglass, you may begin."

With a flick of his wand, a giant, sand-filled hourglass flipped itself over and the grains began to fall, almost at the same speed of Harry's sanity.

Picking up his quill, Harry looked at the sheaf of parchment in front of him to see that the first question was a lot easier than he would have expected:

_1, Name the two types of 'Magi._

Harry's mind whirred into action. He didn't just have two answers; he had three. He quickly scribbled them down (_Animagi and Metamorphmagi. There are also dream-controlling types of 'Magi, known as Nocturnimagi. These types of wizard are born with their abilities, much like Metamorphmagi, and, as such, other witches and wizards cannot develop them as Animagi can_).

The rest of the exam made Harry wonder why he had been so worried over how he would perform; these were the easiest questions he had ever come across, but he put that down to Oliver's spellwork. Surely this is cheating, he thought to himself as he rounded off the final question out of forty, an hour later. He still had an hour left of his exam, and after another ten minutes he heard Hermione huff, slam down her quill and then saw her familiar bush of hair spring up at the front of the Great Hall.

She glanced backwards, her face flushed, and when Harry gave her a how-did-you-do look, she realised that he'd been finished longer than her. She gave another sigh and let her head fall onto the desk, rattling it on the floor and creating a deafening racket that reverberated off of the walls.

The examiner snapped up from his desk like a meerkat and scanned the room with hawk-like eyes, eventually settling upon Hermione and fixing her with such a sharp stare that she was lucky not to have fresh stab wounds. He cleared his throat and Hermione looked up, then he stood up and walked over to her desk, muttering something Harry didn't quite understand.

When Hermione got up from her desk, many of the other students turning to look at her, she pointed at Harry and then paced out of the Great Hall, allowing a warm, early-summer breeze to blow in as the doors fluttered in her wake.

The examiner simply paced up to Harry, looked at his exam sheet and pointed towards the door. Expecting him to tear up the exam paper for the interruption, Harry gulped with horror. Instead, the examiner simply said, "You may go," and went back to his desk, which he put both Harry and Hermione's papers on top of.

"One down, nine to go!" Harry said happily as he and Hermione lay beneath a canopy of trees next to the Black Lake.

The sun was blazing high in a spotless, briny sky and the surface of the water sparkled amidst its stillness.

"That was rather easy, wasn't it?" Hermione said.

"It was! I've just remembered; I need to send Oliver a Patronus telling him that I've finished the exam," Harry gave his wand a flick and watched as the familiar gleaming stag cantered away in the direction of the cottage.

Just looking at his Patronus made him think of Oliver; Oliver's own Patronus had been revealed in the most unlikely of places (a library), and when Harry saw that it, too, was a stag, it strengthened his belief in the fact that he and Oliver were soul mates, destined to be together until the day of their death, and this was something that he was determined to see come true.

"I think we'll get extra marks for the first question," Hermione said confidently. "They obviously didn't think that we would know about Nocturnimagi."

"I know..." said Harry. "Oliver's botched spells must have done quite a number on me; I didn't struggle with a single question. Speaking of using spells, how come you aren't angry that I did the exam under the influence of magic?"

"Because you weren't under the influence of magic," Hermione said flatly. "Once we walked into the Great Hall, any and all enchantments on us were removed completely. You learned all of that yourself in the time that you were studying. I'm actually really proud of you, Harry."

"Not as much as I am," Oliver beamed as he trotted down the sloping lawns towards the duo, James Sirius wobbling about slightly as his pram moved over a few hard spots of soil. "Well done, sweetheart. Was it as bad as you thought?"

"Nowhere near as bad," Harry said, and he practically skipped into Oliver's arms. "I can't wait to get the rest over and done with! Hello, James Sirius!"

"We've got another nine exams to get through," Hermione stated. "The pressure is only just beginning."

"After that exam, I don't think I'll be anywhere near as stressed as I have been over the last few days," Harry said confidently after he and Oliver had separated from a particularly wet kiss.

"I suppose so..." Hermione said unsurely.

Harry's other two exams of the day, Charms and Potions, were considerably more difficult than the Transfiguration exam, but Harry was just about able to keep on top of it. However, he only managed to finish the two hour Charms exam with ten minutes to spare, and there was only a minute left on the clock when he finished the Potions exam.

Hermione, on the other hand, didn't have time to finish the Potions exam, although she _did_ manage to finish the Charms exam faster than Harry, which she seemed very pleased about.

"I beat you, I beat you!" she sang childishly as she and Harry left the exam hall at the end of the day.

"Very mature, Hermione," Harry chuckled. "What's gotten into you, anyway? You've never acted like this before."

"I'm just happy that these exams aren't as difficult as they're made out to be."

"I really am proud of you, Snitchy," Oliver said, pacing up to them once again, James Sirius and his pram being pushed along. "That's the first day of exams finished. How are you feeling?"

"Sappy," Harry said flatly. "So sappy that I just want to sit with you and James Sirius and snuggle all night while watching TV."

"Sounds like a plan to me!" Oliver said happily. "Oh, while you were doing your exams I bought a few more cute little baby grows for James Sirius. I'll show you them when we get home."

"I can't wait!" Harry said. "Are you doing anything, Hermione? It's only six weeks until Ron's trial. I guess you'll be getting quite worried right about now..."

"I'm not worried about anything," Hermione said confidently. "And no, I'm not doing anything. Why?"

"Would you like to stay at ours for the night?" Harry asked. "We'll keep any and all noise to a minimum if you do, but it'll be a nice change from the Hogwarts dormitory, won't it?"

"It will. Alright, I'll spend the night at your cottage!"

Harry, Oliver and Hermione smiled all the way down to the cottage, where they spent the night watching horror films until the early hours of the morning.

"See now, who in their right mind would run upstairs away from the killer like that?" Hermione said while they were watching a slasher film. The protagonist, a pretty woman with shoulder-length black hair, was fleeing up the staircase in her house from a masked man in a black cloak who was wielding a hunting knife. "Honestly, it's insulting to women. If that was me, I would head straight for the door and go to the police."

"Yeah, because you'd really have time to decide the right way to run if you were fleeing for your life..." Oliver said sardonically.

"I'm only saying," Hermione said indignantly.

Oliver left the matter at that.

After two hours of Harry being startled and Hermione squealing in fright, they were all very tired, and they climbed the stairs like zombies, Harry and Oliver heading for their bedroom with James Sirius, Hermione going straight into the spare bedroom.

Friday came and so did another four exams. Knowing that they were going to be far easier than the previous day's exams, Harry's nerves were nowhere to be seen, and as he walked to his third one of the day, Herbology, he felt himself swelling wit confidence.

Hermione seemed to be faring well, too; her hair, a big bush by the end of the previous day, was now back to normal.

She found the exam to be so easy that she even had enough time left to wrestle with the Venomous Tentacula when its blood-red creepers lassoed around her waist. It shrunk away into a corner of the greenhouse after she delivered a hard punch to it.

Harry and Hermione's fourth and final exam of the day only lasted for thirty minutes, but they still managed to finish in record time, much to the other students' annoyance.

As Harry and Hermione made their way back up to the castle after sitting down by the Black Lake after another intense day of exams, Oliver pushing James Sirius in his pram alongside them, Harry thought he saw something move out of the corner of his eye.

It was only a very momentary sight, but he was sure he saw something orange move in between the trees of the Forbidden Forest.

"Did you see that?" Harry said lowly, pointing towards a dark clearing.

"See what?"

"I thought I just saw... never mind."

"Okay then..." Oliver confusedly. "Anyway, that's seven exams out of the way; only three left to go! I'm so, so proud of you, sweetheart."

"Thanks, baby," Harry smiled, placing a gentle kiss to Oliver's lips. "It means a lot to me that you're being so supportive."

"Why wouldn't I be?" said Oliver, touching his nose to Harry's. "You're my entire world; of course I'm going to be there for you. I'm going to be there for you no matter what happens. Any problem or situation, whether it be life-threatening or just a matter of something silly like shopping, you'll always have my backing. I love you."

"I love you too."

"If you two have quite finished," Hermione said scornfully. "We've still got another three exams to study for."

"Hermione, they'll be the easiest exams ever," Harry said matter-of-factly. "Divination only requires us to make stuff up, Defence Against the Dark Arts is all practical and Muggle Studies is in the bag anyway."

"You've got a point, I suppose," admitted Hermione. "Still, a little bit of studying won't hurt."

"I've done plenty of studying over the last few weeks," Harry said, somewhat bitterly. "Not to mention going into fits of rage so bad that I even took it out on Oliver. I'm sorry for that, Ollie."

"It's completely fine," Oliver said understandingly. "I know what it's like to go through NEWT exams. It was a living hell when I was at Hogwarts."

"Anyway," Harry said quickly, changing the subject. "I want to spend time with my little boy."

He hoisted James Sirius out from his pram and cradled him, then kissed his forehead.

"You're a little treasure, do you know that?"

"Another family night tonight, I think," Oliver said promptly.

"I was thinking we could get into more _carnal_ activities tonight..." Harry said.

"I'm not feeling myself today, sweetheart," Oliver said apologetically. "Once all of your exams are over and I'm feeling better, we'll do whatever you want."

"I've already got an idea..."

That evening consisted of nothing but snuggling on the couch as a family, Harry laid on his side next to Oliver, who was laid on his back with James Sirius snoozing into his chest as they watched yet another horror film. This time it was one about a zombie apocalypse ravaging the world and a small band of survivors who fled to a shopping mall.

"I've always loved gory films," Oliver said during a particularly gruesome scene in which a man was brutally disembowelled.

"I love horror films as well," Harry commented. "But I much prefer romance and that sort of thing."

"You are just a big bag of sugar, aren't you?" Oliver said amusedly, and he captured Harry's lips in a sweet kiss.

"What can I say?" said Harry. "Ever since we got together I've felt myself falling more in love with you every day. Even after all these months, the romance is still going."

"That's because we were meant for each other," Oliver said. "I'm sure of it. The love between us will never die, sweetheart."

"I love you so much, Ollie."

"I love you too, Snitchy."

After the weekend passed without so much as a backwards glance, Harry's nerves were never as at ease as they were just then as he and Hermione made their way towards their ninth and penultimate exam. The eighth exam, taking place on the morning, had been incredibly easy for Harry and Hermione, but the other students seemed to struggling considerably with it. There were only a few other students that managed to finish the exam before the end of the allotted time.

The hour-and-a-half exam on the afternoon, their final exam, took them both completely by surprise, however. Harry and Hermione both racked their brains as they stared fixedly down at the Arithmancy paper in front of them, and they were both starting to become very worried when they heard the scratching of quills around them come to an abrupt end.

Everyone else in the hall had finished before them, and when Harry glanced up at the hourglass at the front of the Great Hall, he realised that they only had five minutes to spare. He was still three questions away from the end, and the last two were essay questions.

He quickly scrawled out the translations of two final runes on a complicated chart and then slammed his quill down with earnest, somewhat disappointed in himself for not finishing the exam like he had done with all the others.

"FREEDOM!" he hollered as he and Hermione took a leisurely stroll through a sun-drenched Hogsmeade. "We're finally free!"

"Our exams are finally over!" Hermione sighed with relief. "Now we can have as much fun as we like!"

"And that fun is going to start tonight!" Oliver laughed, and he lunged across the square towards an unsuspecting Harry, whom he grabbed by the waist and heaved him off his feet, ensnaring his lips immediately. "Well done, Snitchy! I knew you could do it!"

"I'm so happy I could sing!" Harry giggled. "Wait, where's James Sirius?"

"I told your parents that your final exams were today," Oliver explained. "When they heard my tone of voice, they knew what I was getting at so they offered to look after the baby for the night! Plenty of love-making tonight, sweetheart! Better prepare your anus."

"Quiet explicit today, aren't you?" Harry smirked, and before Oliver could respond he locked their lips together again.

When they broke apart, Hermione shaking her head in mock frustration, Oliver said, "I've got a little treat planned for you to celebrate your last day as a student..."

"I can't wait..." Harry muttered, and he nibbled seductively on the lobe of Oliver's ear.

Oliver let Harry down and took a hold of his hand. "We'll just have a little bit of kissing and cuddling when we get in, make something to eat, and then we can get right to the fun. I've ordered Dobby to soundproof every room..."

He winked at Harry. Harry winked back.

Hand-in-hand, Harry and Oliver both made in the direction of their cottage, leaving Hermione to Disapparate from the village square.

They jogged through the remaining side streets, the sun tingling the back of their neck, and when Potter-Wood Cottage came into full view, Harry gave a gasp of excitement.

Never before had the cottage seemed so inviting, and the more Harry thought of the fun activities that would unfold within its walls, the more his trousers constricted, and the more Oliver blushed beside him.

"Soon," he chuckled, and he led Harry over the threshold of the cottage with the seductive beckoning of a siren.


	6. Dead of Night

**Chapter Six – Dead of Night**

"You always know how to get my motor running..." Oliver growled in pleasure as Harry positioned himself on top of them, grinding his hips in a sensual circular motion that drove them both crazy.

"And so I should," Harry grunted back. "I've been making love with you for eight months now..."

"What a fun eight months they've been," Oliver licked Harry's jaw, savouring the subtle shivers he received in turn, then grabbed Harry's wrists and flipped over until the younger man was pinned to the mattress.

"Eventful, you mean," Harry replied, raising his lower body to regain the contact lost during their miniature wrestle. "Let's see now; Vinculum Duo, Nocturnimagi, Bonding, Dementors, Blue Swan, Xavier, Eternal Complex and now Ron is in prison."

"That _is_ eventful..." Oliver said, and he dived for Harry's neck. "You taste amazing, and that's before I've even reached your dick."

"You certainly like tasting it, don't you?" Harry said huskily, trapping Oliver's tongue painlessly in between his teeth. "As mind-blowing as your cock-sucking always is, your technique could be refined a little more, though..."

"Oh yeah?" Oliver said in a challenging tone of voice. "Why don't you teach me, then?"

"Alright, I will," Harry with a cheeky smirk.

He pushed Oliver off of him. Oliver fell to the floor with a dull thud.

"So, Mr Potter-Wood," Harry said authoritatively, putting on his best teacher impression. "You wish to learn the secret art of fellatio, do you?"

"Harry, what are you doing?" Oliver said amusedly.

"Play along and I might award ten points to Gryffindor," Harry winked.

"This is one of your fantasies, isn't it?" Oliver realised, a huge grin spreading across his cheeks. "You fantasise about being a teacher! Okay then, _Professor_ Potter-Wood, I'll be your student."

To Harry's confusion, Oliver walked over to the built-in cupboard on the other side of the room and pulled out a set of (Harry's jaw dropped) Gryffindor robes.

"How long have you-?"

"Never got rid of them," Oliver said proudly. "Why would I, when Hogwarts was where I met you?"

"You mean you kept those because they reminded you of me?" Harry said, smiling unconsciously.

"That's exactly why I kept them," said Oliver, and he blushed a little bit.

"You're giving me cavities again, Ollie," Harry laughed. Then, with a clear of his throat, he changed back into character. "Mr Potter-Wood, would you kindly get dressed so that the lesson can begin?"

"Yes, Professor," Oliver played along, albeit grinning hugely.

He quickly threw on his old robes, having been naked beforehand.

"Professor, could I ask you to do the same?"

"Certainly not, young man," Harry said sternly. "I much prefer my current state of undress to those rags you are given by the school. In fact, I feel rather guilty leaving you in them. However, school rules must be obeyed."

"Isn't your current 'state of undress' breaking the rules though, sir?"

"Such cheek!" Harry chortled. "I'm afraid I'll have to cane you soon, my boy."

"Oh please do, Professor."

"All in good time, Mr Potter-Wood, all in good time."

Harry wrapped his palm around the base of his half-hard shaft and gave it a few quick strokes, then wiggled it about a little bit and said, "Let's see how you hold up on your own. Get on your knees, boy."

"Yes, sir."

Oliver did as he was ordered. Clambering onto his knees at the door of the cupboard, Oliver took his time in making his way over to Harry, whose length was growing considerably from the mere sight of Oliver in uniform. Oliver prowled forward on all fours like a panther, and when he finally reached Harry, he immediately stuck his tongue out, stopping it abruptly just a few inches away from the tip of Harry's dick.

"What are you waiting for?" Harry said sharply. "Get to it."

"Yes, Professor Potter-Wood," Oliver intoned.

Oliver wrapped his lips around Harry's dribbling tip and gave the slit a slight flick, then he took its entirety in one great gulp. Harry moaned loudly, placing his hands on Oliver's head and mindlessly sweeping his fingers through the short brown locks he found there.

"Not a bad start," Harry commented with a slight rasp in his voice. "Use your tongue a little bit more."

Oliver smiled around Harry's shaft and glanced up at him, then he continued to move his mouth backwards and forwards so that the fleshy log repeatedly poked the back of his throat. Having tamed his gag reflex a while back, this didn't faze him even the slightest little bit.

Doing as he was told, Oliver spiced up the blowjob by swirling his tongue at first around the base, then dragging it slowly up along the bumpy veins until he was finally back at the head, which he lapped at like a puppy waiting to be fed.

"Much better..." Harry groaned. "Mr Potter-Wood, I think you are already quite experience with this. Why do you need my help?"

"I want to please you more, Professor," Oliver said simply.

"You're doing a very good job with this, considering you have only just become my student. Perhaps you'd like to go one step further?"

"I'd be delighted," Oliver replied, pulling off of Harry's cock with a slurp. "Would you like to be top or bottom?"

"Oh, I think it's only right for the teacher to be top, don't you? Stand with your back to me, Mr Potter-Wood."

"But sir, I haven't gotten undressed yet."

Harry flicked his wand and watched as Oliver's robes tore themselves away from his body, fluttering through the air like some sort of fabric butterfly before settling on the bed.

"Let's drop the act," Harry whispered in Oliver's ear, and gently scraped his teeth across the lobe. "I love you, Ollie..."

"I love you too, Snitchy," said Oliver, and he rotated his head to plant a kiss on Harry's lips. "Make love to me..."

"I will..." Harry grasped his dick, which was now throbbing painfully, and pointed his wand at it. He muttered, "_Lubrico! Sterilis!_"

He guided his cock to Oliver's hole, which quivered slightly as the head brushed over it, and then gave a short push.

"Harry!" Oliver hissed, clapping his hands around the back to grasp Harry's butt cheeks. "All... inside..."

"Okay..." Harry nuzzled his face into Oliver's neck and started peppering it with kisses, flicking and licking at the sensitive skin. He gave another push forwards and his body was suddenly alive from the heat inside Oliver. "R-Ready?"

"Y-Yeah..."

"Ollie..." Harry moaned, withdrawing until only the head of his dick remained inside Oliver.

Then he shoved forwards and felt the muscles in Oliver's arse hugging his dick.

"Harry!" Oliver gasped. "Mmmmmm..."

With each delicious thrust, Harry could feel himself becoming sweatier, and as his hands roamed around Oliver's torso, tweaking his perked-up nipples and massaging his abs and pecs, he felt completely at ease.

"I love you so much, Ollie..." he muttered in Oliver's ear, and after giving a very hard shove forward, something inside him stirred.

Harry and Oliver both screamed at the height of their lungs, but neither of them achieve an orgasm.

"Fucking hell, Harry! Do that again!"

Harry obliged, this time pushing even harder.

"SHIT!" Oliver growled. "How can something feel so good as that?! Keep doing it and don't stop! Ohhhhhhhhhhh!"

"Ollie! Ollie! Ollie!" Harry rambled into Oliver's neck as his thunderous pace continued, his mind becoming more fogged by the second. "You have no idea how good this feels from my end..."

"Ohhhhhh! I could say the... Ngh... I could say the same!"

"Ollie!"

"Harry!"

Harry knew he couldn't last much longer, so he allowed his hand to wander down towards Oliver's dick, intent on bringing them both to a climactic release.

The throbbing length made contact with Harry's palm, and it twitched slightly, streaking a subtle line of precum across his skin. Oliver moaned from the friction between Harry's palm and his dick, twisting his neck round so forcefully that he almost head-butted Harry in the face. Despite the near miss, they clamped their lips together and refused resolutely to let go until their glorious eruption began.

Fast and faster Harry's thrusts became, and faster and faster he jerked Oliver's cock, which was now so swollen that it looked as though it might explode-

"HARRY!" Oliver shrieked, and before Harry knew what was happening his hand was almost blasted off by the force of a thousand cannons as Oliver became no more than a bag of nerves, muscles and flesh, firing out endless thick ropes of pearly semen.

The constriction of Oliver's arse was so intense that Harry could see nothing but the insides of his eyelids, and the only thing he could concentrate properly on was the raging waves of paroxysmal pleasure that crippled his existence.

With a grunt, he came inside Oliver and convulsed, his arms still locked around his husband's chest as his thrusting showed no signs of stopping. Harry was far too consumed by the orgasm, and all form of conscious thought or movement was gone completely, instead replaced by a hormone-crazed beast intent on riding out his most explosive climax yet.

When Harry pulled out of Oliver they both collapsed to the floor, thoroughly spent and panting for air.

"Sex... needs... to... be... like... that... all... the... time..."

"I l... love you... H... Harry..." Oliver wheezed, his entire lower body covered in white, sticky fluid, which Harry started helping himself to by licking some of it away.

"I love... you too... Ollie..." Harry replied, shifting into a position where he could easily entangle himself with Oliver in a spooning position. "Time for sleep. Goodnight, baby."

"Goodnight, sweetheart," Oliver whispered, twisting his head around again to give Harry a gentle kiss.

Even though they were both heavily coated in semen and the floor wasn't exactly the most comfortable bed, Harry and Oliver found it extremely easy to fall asleep together, just as they had those many times before and just as they would for all of their years to come.

* * *

Hogwarts castle was unusually dark and barren considering the time. There had always been at least one teacher roaming around, whether going for a night time stroll or checking for students that were out of bed, but tonight it was as though all life had been snuffed out.

As she passed a window overlooking the gloomy Black Late, Hannah Abbott thought to herself about a possible place for her to go at this hour.

Being Head Girl was difficult work on top of the mountains she already received as part of her NEWTs, so it was a relief to be able to wander about the castle without a care in the world now that the exams were over.

While the exams had been extremely difficult, she thought, she surprised even herself that she had managed to complete the majority of the questions in the papers, although there were several instances in which she was afraid she might have failed.

"Where to go... where to go..." she muttered to herself as she dawdled down the deserted corridor leading away from the top of the Astronomy Tower.

She passed a few more windows and noticed that in the few minutes between looking out of the other window and now, a thin layer of mist had descended upon the school grounds.

There was something eerie about tonight, and Hannah felt a slight unease lifting the hairs on the back of her neck.

A door ahead slammed shut and rattled the corridor with a bang that sounded like a cannon when compared to the surroundings' thick stiffness.

Hannah thought she had seen a glimmer of red whip out of sight around the bend leading to the next corridor. After the tough week she'd had, she didn't think anybody would be stupid enough to test her patience, so she crept forward, intent on surprising the nightwalker.

As she kept herself low and out of the moonlight that beamed in through an open window, she took a hold of her wand and illuminated it, keeping it aloft just in case the student decided to try and jinx her.

The looming form of an old oak door, probably leading to a broom closet she thought, grew larger on one side of the corridor, half-hidden in the dull light of Hannah's wand (curse her inability to perform the simplest spells).

The rusty brass handle cast an eerie shadow down the corridor as she passed the door, and as the light of her wand died away, the darkness becoming whole once more, she thought she heard something rattling in the distance.

Hannah quickened her pace to one that was very much similar to the samba her heart was beating out. She didn't know why she was so nervous; it was just a student, right? But when she considered the fact that someone had been injured in a stabbing fairly recently, she started to think twice about whether she wanted to roam about the castle at this time of night on her own.

There were no teachers around to help her, so she was completely at any possible attacker's mercy.

"I'm overreacting," she repeated to herself in a mantra. "There's nothing out there waiting to kill me. I'm overreacting."

"Maybe you are, and you maybe you aren't..." a terrible, gut-wrenching voice stole through the frigid air, and Hannah stood dead in her tracks.

"W-Who's there?" Hannah squeaked with fright.

"It's not safe out here on your own at night, you know?"

"W-Who's there?" she repeated, her voice high and shrill.

The voice didn't reply. Hannah called out again, but still there was no reply.

"_Lowmoose Maxeema!_" she said, a little louder than she would have liked.

The same door she had heard before clicked, as if it was being locked, and her heart plummeted. She was trapped inside the Astronomy Tower with a crazed madman and no teachers to help her. Her only option was to go back to the top of the Tower and call for help.

Without looking back or even realising that her wand hadn't illuminated due to her incorrect incantation, she pelted flat-footed back down the corridor, and she knew that she wasn't just hearing things when a set of independent stomps stormed along after her.

"Leave me alone!" she screamed, hurtling around the bend until she could see the steps leading up to the top of the Astronomy Tower.

"What's the fun in that?" the voice returned, a lot like a high-pitched schoolboy.

Hannah glanced over her shoulder momentarily to survey her attacker, but all she saw were the flapping hem of a black cloak and a glimmer of red.

Her heart hammering and her breathing constricted heavily, Hannah felt relieved when at last the cold metal rail of the stairs came into contact with her sweaty, death-white hands.

First foot forward and she breathed a sigh of relief. The real challenge, though, would be to get up the rest of the stairs without stumbling.

The sound of cold metal being slapped hard reverberated around the eerily quiet corridor and up the Tower as she and her pursuer ascended with immediate haste.

No matter how fast Hannah ran, no matter how much she begged to be left alone, the figure kept on chasing her, and he was running faster than her too; it wouldn't be long before they caught up with her.

"Hannah, what are you screaming for?" a girl asked as she stormed off of the stairwell.

"There's someone chasing me, Annabelle!" Hannah babbled. "You have to help me!"

"What are you talking about, Hannah?" Annabelle said calmly, glancing down the staircase. "There's nobody there..."

"I was being chased, I swear!" Hannah insisted.

"Hannah, there's nobody there! See for yourself!" Annabelle pointed down into the endless darkness. "See?"

Hannah approached the top of the stairs cautiously. Sure enough, there was nobody there. Had it all been a figment of her imagination?

"But there was somebody there!" she said loudly. "They were tormenting me, saying it wasn't safe to be alone here at night!"

"I didn't hear anyone," Annabelle. "Are you absolutely sure that you were being chased?"

"I think I'd know if someone was chasing me!" Hannah said indignantly.

"Somebody _was_ chasing her!"

The voice came from neither Hannah or Annabelle, and in a matter of seconds a great, ghostly shadow had bulleted out from the darkest corners of the Astronomy Tower, heading for Annabelle. Before Hannah could react there was a flash of metal, followed by the sound of tearing flesh, and then a huge stream of scarlet spilled out onto the floor.

The shadow disappeared once more, and all that Hannah could see was the splatter of blood across her face as it trickled down from her forehead and into her mouth, leaving a horrible, metallic taste.

She wiped her face then stood staring in purest horror at the sight in front of her.

Annabelle was staring at her without looking, deathly pale and her hands covered in red fluid.

"R-Run... for... help..." she gurgled, and her hands fell away from her neck to reveal a gruesome slash, going so deep that Hannah could make out her spinal cord behind the network of severed veins and arteries.

Blood spouted profusely from the gaping void, and after another few minutes of intense, terror-filled silence, Annabelle collapsed in a pool of her own blood.

"Annabelle!" Hannah shrieked, finally able to speak.

"It's not Annabelle you should be worried about!"

The shadow emerged from nothingness once more, a gleam of silver by its side, and it darted straight for Hannah with murderous intent.

"I don't think so!" Hannah shouted with more confidence than she thought she had.

She spun on the spot and lifted her leg. It slammed directly into the ribs of the oncoming killer, and Hannah laughed as she watched it lurch sideways and tumble into the whole in the middle of the room, down to the second level of the Astronomy Tower.

Hannah took her chance and ran back down the staircase, the sound of clanging steel surely being enough to wake at least one person who could help her.

A roar at the foot of the stairs when she only had three steps to go made Hannah aware of the fact that she had helped move the killed in her path.

She struck her leg out again, but this time it didn't make contact with skin or bone; the cold, hard metal of a dagger pierced her flesh, and a sliver of blood, bright as a beacon in the dead of night, trickled onto the floor as her muscle became torn, the limb becoming almost useless.

Hannah screamed in pain but lashed out with a balled-up fist, and when she felt it connect with someone's jaw she knew that she had given herself a chance to escape.

It was extremely difficult to try and run when one of her legs refused to work properly, so when she took an ill-timed step forward all she did was lurch forward until she hit her face off the stone floor.

Ignoring her rapidly swelling eye and the sharp pain in her now-broken nose, she dragged herself along the floor. If she could just make it to the broom closet and lock the door, she'd be fine. If there was one spell she was good at, it was the Locking Charm.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Hannah's heart was beating out a techno rave by now, and when she felt something grab a hold of her ankle, she knew that it was too late. Everything was lost. Her friends, her family, her life, lost forever.

She waited for her fate, for her injured leg hindered any movement she had planned. Then there was another gleam of silver, and the sound of a blade slicing through the air punctured the night.

Sharp agony exploded in Hannah's chest, and then it continued as the blade was dragged jaggedly down the length of her torso. Having no energy left to scream, all Hannah could do was accept that she was about to die, and when she saw a fountain of blood-red rain falling from above, flecking her face with crimson specks, consciousness left her.


	7. Whiterock Resort

**Chapter Seven – Whiterock Resort**

Harry's first thought when he woke up at seven o'clock the next morning was that he had another hard day of schoolwork ahead of him, but when he realised that his body was very sticky and he and Oliver were practically glued together, it dawned on him that his time at Hogwarts was well and truly over.

Whilst he felt very happy indeed that his schooldays were finally over and he was able to spend as much time with Oliver as he wanted, he couldn't help but become a little depressed that the place he had once called home was now behind him.

At least it would only be temporary, Harry assured himself. By applying to become a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in the coming months, Harry would be able to ensure that home was never really that far away.

He and Oliver had discussed what would happen to their cottage if Harry was to get the position. Being stubborn and absolutely refusing to leave each other for extended periods of time, Harry and Oliver had agreed that they would move into Harry's living quarters at Hogwarts, as a family with James Sirius and Snuffles the Crup.

Now that there were no more lessons to be taken at Hogwarts, Harry's weekdays were just as barren as his weekends, and it wasn't long before his mind trailed to ways he could occupy his time while he waited for NEWT results to come in the post.

Oliver stirred beside him, groaning something about how he wanted Harry to stick something inside him.

"Good morning, baby," Harry said quietly, placing a kiss to Oliver's cheek and nuzzling into his neck. "How did you sleep?"

"Surprisingly well, considering we're laying on a floor," Oliver chuckled.

He tried to turn himself over so that he and Harry were facing each other, and as his body twisted, the sound of skin peeling stole through the crisp early morning.

"We came really hard last night, eh?" Harry said, laughing at the dried white substance on their bodies.

"It was worth it," Oliver said, gently lacing his lips with Harry's. "I love you."

"I love you too," Harry's heart fluttered at the sight of Oliver in all of his natural glory, and he felt a certain part of himself twitch in eagerness.

"You can have me again in the shower, sweetheart," Oliver said, rubbing his bleary eyes as he climbed to his feet. "We need to get cleaned up."

"Why not use spells?"

"Because I want to shower with you, silly!" Oliver grinned and patted Harry on the back.

Then he proffered a hand for him to take, which he did, and hoisted him up from the floor.

The bedroom was a complete mess; pearly streaks trailed along the crimson carpet in places and Oliver's used set of old Hogwarts robes were strewn everywhere, also covered in spots of dried semen. It had truly been a night to remember, and one certainly of orgasmic proportions.

Harry smiled to himself as he walked out of a warm patch of sunlight with Oliver into the tiled bathroom, where Oliver paced over to the walk-in shower and turned on the taps.

He turned to face Harry with an admiring smile across his face.

"You've done me so proud, Snitchy," he said, his eyes gleaming. "Really, I'm so proud of you for coping with your exams. You really do deserve all the good things in your life."

"Then I definitely deserve you and our son," said Harry, who stalked over to Oliver like a predator and practically slammed him up against the glass panels on the shower cubicle.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Oliver teased, pushing Harry away from him. "You haven't earned anything just yet. You want this, you'll have to work for it in the shower. Clear?"

"Crystal," Harry said huskily, and after another failed attempt at shoving his tongue down Oliver's throat, he stepped into the shower.

The heat coming from the shower made him feel very drowsy, but the soothing cascade did much to coax his muscles into submission. He sighed audibly.

Oliver placed his hands on Harry's shoulders and started rubbing in small circular motions, with Harry doing the same.

"That's right..." Oliver encouraged, applying slightly less pressure than Harry was applying to him.

Harry pressed down a little harder, and Oliver's gratified gasp told him that he was going it right.

As the water beat down upon them and trickled down their skin, a creamy stream flowed along the shower floor and into the drain, the semen of the previous night slowly but surely being washed away.

"I love you," Harry whispered above the splashing.

"I love you too," Oliver replied, and he pulled their bodies together, the grazing of their skin causing the remnants of their congealed semen to rain from their bodies. "We can finally spend our lives together without any interruptions."

"Or people trying to kill us," Harry said jokingly, but there was a tone of seriousness in his voice.

"Hey, look at me," Oliver said, lifted Harry's chin until their faces were level. "We've been back here for three months now. If someone was going to try and kill us, they would have done so by now. We'll be fine."

"I hope so," Harry said tensely.

"There's nothing to worry about," Oliver said, and he stroked a finger genially down Harry's cheek. "You're really tense, even after last night. Let's loosen you up a little bit..."

Harry immediately made to grab Oliver's cock, but Oliver slapped his hand away.

"No," he said simply. "This is about you and making you feel relaxed. I'm as relaxed as can be. Now, stand with your back against the wall."

Harry nodded and did as he was told, moving across the cosy cubicle until his bare back was met with cold tiles. He hissed, but his mouth was quickly covered by Oliver's.

He released his tongue from its moist prison and it wasted no time in engaging Oliver in a fierce battle.

Oliver's hands roamed freely, as did Harry's, but instead of moving in for foreplay as they usually did, one of them grasped the base of Harry's shaft, which was starting to increase in size very quickly.

"Thank you, baby," Harry muttered through the clashing of teeth. "I need this..."

"I know you do, sweetheart," Oliver said sympathetically. "Which is why I'm not wasting any time."

"What do you- AHHHHHH!"

Harry's cries were muffled by Oliver's mouth again, and he shifted uncomfortably for a couple of seconds as he adjusted to the new intrusion inside him.

At first, Harry thought that Oliver had penetrated him without using lubricant, but when he looked down he saw that, despite being rock hard, Oliver's dick was as far away from his hole as it had been before. What _were _inside Harry, however, were three fingers.

Burrowed deeply inside him and stretching the muscles to their maximum capacity, they delivered pleasure to Harry that he had never quite felt before, but his instincts took over him and he immediately started to slowly move up and down on the digits, regardless.

"OLLIE!" Harry wailed.

Oliver had only just started pleasuring him, but he was already screaming like a banshee, and as the pace of his lifts increased, so did Oliver's stroking of his cock.

"Keep moving, sweetheart," Oliver encouraged him. "This is going to be amazing, I promise."

"OLLIE! OLLIE! OLLIE!"

Harry just couldn't keep his self-control, and eventually it all became almost too much to bear. His wails were so shrill that it was a surprise the glass cubicle didn't shatter into thousands of piece around them.

Harry was losing his sense of self fast, and his movements on top of Oliver's fingers quickened to such an incredible speed that it was nigh on impossible for Oliver to maintain the firmness of his hand's position.

The prostate-prodding, in addition to the cock-rubbing and neck-nibbling, was becoming far too much for Harry to bear at such an early time of the morning.

He shrieked one final time, and the ceiling was blasted with a creamy firework.

His legs gave out and he crumpled and tumbled out of the shower so quickly that Oliver's fingers were almost broken under the sudden weight and twist.

"Oliver..." he choked, spread-eagled on the tiles of the bathroom. "That was... ugh..."

His head, completely fogged, fell to the floor in his own personal paradise. He was panting heavily and his face was completely flushed.

"That good, eh?" Oliver laughed. "Come on, let's get dry."

Harry looked up from the floor to see Oliver standing over him with an amused smirk spread wide across his cheeks.

"I'm doing that to you sometime," Harry said matter-of-factly.

"I'm sure you will, sweetheart, I'm sure you will."

Harry and Oliver quickly got dried and dressed in their bedroom, stealing a few sneaky kisses from each other while they did so, which only proved to slow them down.

The first place they would be heading would be Potter Cottage in Godric's Hollow, to pick up James Sirius. Harry hadn't told Oliver that he was planning on taking them out as part of his first day of freedom.

Where was he planning on taking them? The perfect family location; the beach.

Thirty minutes later and Harry and Oliver Apparated outside of Potter Cottage, where Lily came out to meet them, with James Sirius gurgling happily in his pram.

"Hello, my beautiful little boy!" Oliver cooed, lifting the baby out of the pram and cradling him in his arms. "Did you have a good time with Grandma and Granddad?"

"He wasn't too much trouble, was he?" asked Harry.

"He was no trouble at all," Lily said, shaking her head. "He didn't wake up once during the night. Although, he looks as though he could do with a feed right about now."

"I'll give him his bottle when we're at the beach," Harry said, feeling that now was the right time to tell Oliver about his plans.

"We're going to the beach?" Oliver said, a tone of excitement in his voice.

"You seem a little pleased about that," Harry chortled. "Any particular reason?"

"I've always loved the beach," Oliver grinned down at James Sirius and said, "We're going to the beach, little James! Isn't Daddy the sweetest?"

"Before we go, we need to make sure we have everything we need," Harry said.

"You can grab some towels from inside and the baby's car seat is in the living room," said Lily. "There is a vest and a pair of shorts as well as sandals for James Sirius that your father and I bought."

"Thanks a lot, Mum and Dad," Harry beamed at them and he quickly made his way into the cottage. "Dobby!"

The House Elf appeared in the hallway with a loud crack.

"How can Dobby help Harry Potter-Wood?" he said jovially, his great, tennis-ball-like eyes shimmering like mossy pools.

"I want you to find some things for the beach around the house. If we do it together, we should be able to get it done quicker."

"The beach?" Dobby tilted his head to one side.

"Yeah."

"Of course, sir!"

With that, Dobby cantered up the staircase, and in a matter of seconds the entire cottage was filled with clattering and, on one occasion, smashing.

"I hope you clean up after yourself, Dobby!" Harry called, walking into the living room collect the baby things. "This isn't our cottage, remember!"

"Yes, sir!" Dobby squeaked from upstairs.

Judging by the raucous sound of plates and glass hitting the floor, Dobby had somehow managed to bump into the china cabinet in Lily and James' bedroom.

"What is he doing up there?!" Lily said, horrified at the prospect of her precious family heirlooms being destroyed. "Dobby, come here!"

Stomping feet ran across the ceiling above Harry's head, and he laughed silently to himself as he picked up the baby filled with nappies, bottles and baby milk.

"Ollie, you might as well put James Sirius in the car seat," Harry said, and Oliver came into the living room, his nose and mouth being prodded by an inquisitive James Sirius, who looked like the mirror image of his mother when they stood together.

"I would, but this little monster's trying to mine for gold," Oliver chortled. "Pick me a winner, son!"

"What else do we need?" Harry asked after tittering to himself at the humorous sight in front of him. "We have milk, bottles and nappies."

"You need some sandwiches for yourselves."

Harry saw Lily pace from the hallway, in a somewhat stroppy mood (probably because of her china, he thought amusedly), into the kitchen, where the sound of more chinking rang through the cottage.

There were two consecutive cracks from upstairs, and then the sound of barking made it clear that Dobby had travelled back to the cottage to fetch Snuffles.

"In you go, James," Oliver said, sitting James Sirius in the car seat and fastening the belt. "You're so cute, I could just eat you all up!"

He grabbed James Sirius' hand and started nibbling playfully on the tiny fingers, much to James Sirius' delight; high-pitched squawks of laughter almost deafened Harry, and Snuffles, who came bounding the stairs, barked discordantly.

"_Silencio!_" James shouted from the hallway, and the entire cottage was engulfed in silence at last. "That's better. How could one family make so much noise?"

"At least we're a lively family," said Harry. "Some people just don't know the definition of fun."

"Here are your sandwiches," Lily said, bringing in a plate full of a variety of sandwiches, all wrapped in cling film. "There are cheese, corned beef, ham, tuna and peanut butter."

"Thanks, Mum," Harry pecked her on the cheek and took the sandwiches from her. "Dobby?"

"Dobby is at Harry Potter-Wood's service!"

"Do you have the towels?"

"Dobby does, sir! And he has picked up some body lotion as well!"

"Good," Harry said, taking the towels that Dobby had handed him. "Baby, we're all set to go. Are you ready?"

"Yeah, I think so," said Oliver. "James Sirius is safely in his car seat and I've got the bag of baby things over my back."

"Dobby, you brought Snuffles down from the cottage, didn't you?" Harry said. "Have you brought his leash as well?"

"Dobby thinks ahead, sir," Dobby said cleverly, passing Harry a metal leash.

"That's everything!" Harry announced after he tied the leash around Snuffles' collar. "Off we go!"

Giving himself one last pat down to make sure that he did indeed have everything they needed, Harry almost skipped out of the living room and through the hallway, which was now drenched in burning, mid-morning sunlight.

Oliver grinned to himself and moved, carrying James Sirius in the car seat, Snuffles yapping at his heels, out of the cottage as well.

When they stepped into the bright day outside, the sun immediately started to prickle the backs of their necks, and they regretted not having worn clothes that covered less; they were sweating profusely.

"Dobby, can you get some clean clothes from our cottage and bring them to us at the beach?" Harry said.

Dobby nodded.

"Great. When you have them, bring them to the Whiterock Resort. That's where we're going."

"Whiterock Resort?" Oliver said thoughtfully. "Where have I heard that name before?"

"Beats me," said Harry. "I only know about it because it was on the list of destinations at King's Cross before we took down Manticore."

"How will we be able to get there, then? If you've never seen an image..."

"I have," Harry stated. "There was a picture next to the label."

"Put your wands away," Lily said quickly as a Muggle passed the lush green garden. "You don't want them to see you doing magic-"

"The International Statue of Wizarding Secrecy has been revoked remember, Mum?"

"Ah yes. Okay then, have fun you two!"

"We will," said Harry. Then he turned to face Oliver. "Ready to go, baby? Take my arm."

Harry proffered an arm to Oliver, and Oliver obeyed.

"Our first family day out; at the beach, as well! I'm impressed, sweetheart!" Oliver said cheerily, placing a kiss to Harry's cheek.

"I aim to impress!" Harry replied, and they Disapparated from the garden, startling a few unsuspecting Muggles nearby with the resounding pop that came in their wake.

It was much hotter near the coast. Even though the misty spray of the briny sea did much to lower their temperature somewhat, its effects wore off quickly, and in just a matter of moments they were both sweating copiously such that their shirts gained dark patches in the armpit and back areas.

Harry and Oliver walked down a bustling street lined with ice cream parlours, cafés, hotdog vans and souvenir shops, which Harry saw that one of them sold toy buckets and spades.

"We'll make this a regular trip for us during the summer," Harry told Oliver, wiping a squadron of sweat beads from his forehead. "In a couple of years, when he's old enough, we can buy James Sirius a bucket and spade and he'll have something to play with while we're here."

"Or some_one_," Oliver reminded him. "I've been thinking about this whole having-another-baby thing. If you conceive the baby, it's going to get quite confusing. James Sirius will be calling you Dad, but the baby will be calling you Mum..."

"I've been thinking that, as well," Harry said lowly. "I want to fall pregnant and have the huge connection with the baby that you have with James Sirius-"

"Your connection to James is the same strength as mine, sweetheart," Oliver assured him. "We both love him to death; nothing's ever going to change that."

"I know," Harry said sadly. "But you've got that extra connection. He grew inside you. I want to feel a baby growing inside me. I want to be the doting mother that you've become."

"Oh Harry..." Oliver gave him a sympathetic look. "It must be so hard for you..."

"I guess we could just have all of our kids calling you Mum?" Harry suggested. "I can be the bearer and you can be the mother."

"It doesn't work like that I'm afraid, sweetheart," said Oliver. "Even if it did, I wouldn't allow it. You'd be the rightful mother, got it? We'll just have to cope with the kids calling us different things- What is your problem?!"

An elderly couple nearby had been staring at them as though they belonged in a zoo for the past ten minutes during their conversation.

They said nothing directly to him, instead choosing to simply stalk away, but Harry heard the muffled mumbles of, "Bloody faggots... using magic to get pregnant, I suppose... do away with the freaks, I say..."

"What did you say?" Oliver snapped, instantly grabbing his wand with his free hand.

"Ollie, stop it. Put your wand away before you do harm to someone."

"But they-!"

"I know what they did," Harry said out of the corner of his mouth. "But have you _seen_ the attention you're drawing to us?"

Oliver tore his eyes away from the cowering couple, and he flushed with embarrassment when he saw that a herd of around thirty people had stopped in their places to stare endlessly at them.

Snuffles was barking crazily at the Muggles, so Harry quickly cast a Silencing Spell on him and conjured a muzzle to keep him quiet.

When the crowd had had their fill of drama, they eventually dispersed. By the time they had all gone, the elderly couple had already vanished.

"Don't worry, baby, we'll get our own back on them, I promise," Harry gave Oliver a reassuring kiss and took a hold of his free hand. "Come on, let's find somewhere a place on the beach."

Snuffles must have realised that his attempts are barking were proving fruitless; his head no longer thrashed as it had done when the muzzle was first attached to him, and instead he simply sat on the spot looking downtrodden.

"Are you going to stay quiet?" Harry said authoritatively to the Crup.

Chuckling at the sad look he was being given, he removed the muzzle and was relieved to find that Snuffles appeared to have learned his lesson. After lifting the Silencing Charm, Harry and Oliver walked down the cobble steps onto the beach, which was teeming with life.

The sound of the sea slapping the beach and children giggling happily gave Harry a sense of peace and tranquillity that he usually only experienced when he was laid in bed with Oliver after making love, and as he found a patch of sand nestled amidst the cool shadow of an overlying cliff face, he allowed himself to sink to the floor, much to Oliver's amusement.

"I think this is going to make a nice day out," Harry surmised.

"As long as we don't have any more outbursts from Muggles like that, yeah," Oliver said darkly.

"Hey," Harry said comfortingly. "Why don't you sit down and relax while I feed James Sirius? Snuffles can even lay next to you."

The Crup, having understood his master's plans, immediately trotted round them and settled into the sand beside Oliver, who mindlessly stroked his head.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Oliver said meaningfully as Harry lifted James Sirius out of the car seat and prepared a bottle.

"What for?" Harry said confusedly.

"For being so uptight and snappy back there. I shouldn't have overreacted like that."

"Don't you go and be upset about trying to defend your family," Harry said sternly. "You have no idea how proud I am of you for doing that."

He leaned across towards Oliver and planted a passionate kiss on his lips, ignoring the reproving stares given to them by a family of Muggles a few feet away.

"Do you have to do that in public?" the father said irritably.

"No, but we want to so we will," Harry said flatly.

"I feel sorry for the baby," the man muttered to his wife. "He's never going to know what a mother is."

"Chandler, stop it. I'm sick and tired of you and your homophobic remarks," his wife scolded.

"Filthy faggots... Dykes can fuck off as well..."

"OI!" their teenage daughter shouted, drawing the attention of others nearby. "Why use that word when you know that _I'm_ bisexual?!"

"Honestly Chandler, keep this up and I'm leaving you," Chandler's wife warned him. "The kids can come with me, and all."

"As a matter of fact, he _will_ know what a mother is," Oliver butted in. "He's our _biological_ son. Ever heard of a thing called love? Well that's what made our James Sirius here, and _I'm_ the mother."

"Really?" the wife said interestedly. "So, would I be correct in saying that you two are Harry and Oliver Potter-Wood, the two men that saved the world?"

"Y-Yes," Harry stammered. "How did you know? Muggles might be able to know about magic, but I don't think that applies to things like saving the planet..."

"Muggle? Oh no dear, I'm not a Muggle. This useless piece of garbage next to me, however, is."

"This _piece of garbage_ pays for all of your magical supplies," Chandler retorted.

"Only because you want to be the breadwinner. And why do you want to be the breadwinner? So you can control the kids and myself."

"Yes, because you magical lot need a leash put on you all, if you ask me."

"Well nobody _did_ ask you, did they?"

Chandler glared into nothingness while his wife chuckled next to him. It seemed as though this was a regular occurrence in their household.

"Just ignore him," she said warmly. Then she leaned over and whispered so that only Harry and Oliver could hear her. "I've put a Spewing Solution in his flask of tea. In the next ten minutes, he'll be running to the bathroom. There's enough to keep him in there for a good few hours, so we'll have some peace and quiet until it wears off."

Harry and Oliver looked scarcely at each other, unsure as to whether they wanted to be in this position right now.

A welcome distraction came in the form of a loud bang that echoed off the craggy cliff, and the familiar form of Dobby in his red tea cosy stumbled into view from behind a palisade of broken rocks. He carried two plastic bags filled with what Harry presumed to be clothes as he hopped over the foamy-water-filled canyons between each platform.

"Dobby!" Harry said delightedly. "I was just wondering where you'd got to!"

"Dobby has brought masters some clean clothes and towels," Dobby squeaked, pouncing from the rocks and causing the sand to exhale in big clouds when he landed.

He practically threw them at Harry and then bowed low.

"Thanks. Hold on, Dobby," Oliver rummaged around inside his pockets for something, withdrawing a few bronze Knuts. "For your troubles."

"No sir, Dobby cannot accept gold. Dobby is grateful sir, but he cannot take something which he is forbidden to have."

"It's a part of the whole House-Elves-can't-use-wands by-law," the woman said sadly. "It's a shame really; they should have the same rights as us."

"As long as they have less rights than _normal_ people, I don't really give a damn..." Chandler mumbled.

"Shut up, Chandler. We'll talk about this later," his wife spat.

"Whatever you say, Monica, whatever you say..."

"I've just gained a lot of respect for you, Monica, if I can call you that," Harry beamed.

"Certainly," Monica smiled. "Let me introduce you to our two children. Our daughter, Amy, has just finished her NEWT exams at Hogwarts, and our son, Christopher, starts at Hogwarts in September."

"I finished my NEWT exams yesterday. That's strange; how come I haven't seen you around the school, Amy?" Harry said conversationally.

At that moment, Chandler gave a sickening heave, and he clapped a hand to his mouth. He flashed a demonic glare at Monica - this can't have been a one-off incident – and then he pelted from his seat on the red-and-white chequered blanket, much to the children's amusement.

"Nice one, Mum," Amy chuckled, her silver nose-piercing glittering in the sunlight and her black, green-streaked hair shining with a glossy coat. "We'll get a bit of peace out of him at last. Why is he so homophobic?"

"No idea," Monica said. "Most Muggles are like that anyway. He'd better lay off using the word 'faggot', though; he's going to find himself one family short of a household if he isn't careful. I'm sorry you had to deal with him, you two," she added to Harry and Oliver.

"It's fine," said Oliver, and he waved his hand as though batting away the apology.

"No, it isn't," Monica said flatly. "He needs to learn that times are changing. Wizards and Muggles are co-existing now, and he needs to get used the fact that there's even more diversity than there was before, which is a really good thing if you ask me."

"Baby, we'd better put some lotion on James Sirius before he starts to burn," Harry said, taking out a bottle from the bag and picking up the baby.

He laid James Sirius across his lap and took off his cute red t-shirt, then applied a small amount of lotion to his skin. The baby giggled and squawked as the cold substance tickled him, and when Harry had finished covering his whole body in sun cream he re-clothed the boy and put him back into his car seat.

"It's amazing just how much you look like your mother..." Harry said dreamily as he gazed at his son. Then his mind snapped back to the question he posed to Amy. "So Amy, you didn't answer my question. How come I haven't seen you around Hogwarts before?"

"I was in Slytherin," she said bluntly. "Before Malfoy was carted off to Azkaban, it was a crime against Salazar to associate yourself with Gryffindors. I had a few Gryffindor friends actually, but if I was found out I would have probably been stoned or something. It was different when Malfoy was imprisoned, though. Lots of Slytherins started coming out about their friendships with Gryffindors, myself included. Hell, I even helped fight against Swampstead when she attacked Hogwarts."

"You didn't tell me about that," Monica said suddenly. "Why?"

"I didn't see any reason to tell you..."

"There was every reason to tell me, Amy," Monica sounded heavily wounded. "Your life was in danger."

"With Harry and Oliver fighting her, we weren't in much danger," Amy said.

"You're flattering us," Oliver said amusedly. "We're not _that_ great duellists."

"I'm sure you are," Monica complimented. "To take down Nocturnimagi isn't an easy feat, I can assure you. Allow me to let you in on a little secret. I work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Auror Office actually. We're not supposed to tell anyone this, but there were a few Nocturnimagi running wild before you took down the two at Hogwarts. It was a difficult struggle, but we managed to kill them. I'm sure you understand why the Ministry didn't want information like that getting out to the public. Imagine the mass panic it would have caused..."

"The panic at Hogwarts when they first revealed themselves was bad enough..." Oliver mumbled.

Silence descended upon the small group like a veil, broken only by the giggling and chattering on young children in the sea close by, and the crashing of the waves as they bombarded the beach.

"We need to put some sun cream on as well, baby," Harry said to Oliver. "You don't mind if we do it here, do you Monica?"

"Not at all," she said kindly. "Go right ahead."

"Alright, you loveable oaf, take off your shirt and get on your stomach," Harry commanded.

Oliver smirked amusedly at Harry as he lifted his shirt up and over his bronze, toned abs, not noticing the sexual stare he was being given by Amy.

"He's a married man, Amy, back off," Monica snarled out of the corner of her mouth. "He's gay anyway, you wouldn't have a chance."

"This might be a little bit cold," Harry said as Oliver laid on his front. Harry straddled Oliver's waist from behind, taking off his own shirt to soak up the sun's rays, and then squirted a little bit of sun cream onto his hands. "Here we go."

At first he dabbed a small blob onto Oliver's back, making sure not to apply too much, and once he'd finished rubbing that particular part in, he moved onto Oliver's neck, shoulders, arms and finally legs.

"I think that's enough on my back, sweetheart," Oliver chuckled, but Harry remained glued to his back. Harry pressed into one of the muscles on Oliver's back, and it became apparent was Harry was doing. "Or you can keep massaging me, I don't mind..."

"I hope you're going to give me this treatment," Harry whispered in Oliver's ear, flicking the lobe with his tongue.

"When have I ever failed to please you?" Oliver muttered back, smirking mischievously.

"You make a good point, Wood," Harry claimed Oliver's lips in a gentle kiss, then he rolled off of him so that the sun cream could be applied to his own back. "Go on then, cream me up."

"You're filthy-minded, you are," Oliver chuckled as he swapped places with Harry. "But I still love you."

"I love you too- ah, that's cold!"

"Sorry," Oliver laughed, and he pressed into the muscles on Harry's back after he had applied the lotion.

The beach was alive with the delighted giggles of children as they played in the sand and water, and Harry was finally glad to be rid of all of his problems as he and his family sat there beneath a cliff, enjoying the first of many peaceful days to come.

A few hours passed. James Sirius cried every now and then for a bottle, but other than that the entire day was as calm and collective as can be. By the time three o'clock came, the sun was at its highest in the atmosphere, and its prickly heat started to make Harry and Oliver sweat profusely, so much that they had to reapply their sun cream three times.

It wasn't until five o'clock when Chandler returned, looking extremely pale and sullen.

"Monica, I want a divorce," he spat.

Somehow, this didn't seem to have bothered Amy and Christopher in the slightest. If anything, they seemed pleased.

"So do I," Monica said nonchalantly, turning a page in the magazine she was reading.

The only time she drew herself away from reading was when she took out her wand and gave it a swish.

"What was that?" Chandler said.

"Mine and the kids' things are at my mother's house now. I've sent her," she flicked her wand and a silvery something burst from the end, "a Patronus to tell her what's happening. Have a good life, Chandler. _Depulso!_"

There was a small crack, and Chandler disappeared in the blink of an eye.

"Don't worry," Monica said at the worried glances Harry and Oliver were giving her. "I've only sent him back to what used to be _our_ house. He can keep it; the mortgage isn't fully paid off."

She laughed at the last part, and so did Amy and Christopher.

"So where do you live?" Harry said conversationally.

"My mother lives in Hogsmeade," Monica said. "That's where we'll be heading soon. The tide looks as though it's about to swallow the beach whole."

It was true. The waves grew larger over the coming minutes, and it soon became apparent to Harry that it was getting close to the time of their departure.

"We live in Hogsmeade, as well," Harry said delightedly. "You should come to our cottage sometime for dinner."

"We'd love to!" Monica nodded. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Oliver said courteously. "I think we ought to be going now. We don't want little James to catch a cold."

"We'll come with you," Monica smiled, gathering her things and putting her magazine into a bag by her side. "Come on kids, we're off to Granny's house."

She made her way up the stone steps away from the beach, Amy and Christopher following her, Harry and Oliver bringing up the rear with James Sirius and their belongings, and paced into the almost-barren car park.

She outstretched her arm, and Amy and Christopher took it, then they Disapparated with a loud crack.

Harry and Oliver glanced each other, kissed, then they Disapparated, themselves, heading back home from what Harry thought to have been a fairly satisfying first family day out.


	8. NEWTs and Snorkacks

**Chapter Eight – Newts and Snorkacks**

Harry had thought that his days after his NEWT exams would be the best days of his school life, or what was left of it, but he was incredibly wrong. The novelty of not having any school wore off quickly, and by the beginning of June, Harry was bored with his life, although not entirely.

The only things that stopped him from going insane due to boredom were James Sirius and Oliver, without whom he would most likely be driven into a quarry of self-pity. Even so, there were still signs of an increasingly-dissatisfied Harry being left around the house, and Oliver was quick to pick up on this.

"Sweetheart?" he said tentatively as Harry glared through a sun-flooded window at the beautiful day beyond. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine..."

"Are you sure-?"

"I said I'm fine," Harry said testily.

"You're not fine," Oliver took an apprehensive step towards the hormonal school-leaver. "Anyone with a brain stem can see that. Oh Harry... what can I do to help you?"

"Entertain me, perhaps?" Harry suggested, rather moodily. "Have sex with me? Stimulate me? Up to you; I don't even care. This whole life-after-Hogwarts thing is so boring. There's nothing to do and nobody to hang around with."

"I'll just... leave you be, then..." Oliver said timidly, looking very downtrodden. "I love you, by the way..."

Oliver slowly made his way out of the bedroom, heading back downstairs to see to James Sirius.

"Ollie, wait!" Harry called guiltily. "Come back..."

The older man trudged back into the room, and Harry saw that rivulets of tears were streaming down his face.

"What is it?" he sniffed.

"Baby, I'm so, so sorry," Harry dashed over to him and pulled him into one of the tightest hugs he had ever given him. "I'd never hurt you on purpose. My precious Oliver, I love you beyond words. I don't know what came over me. Can you forgive me?"

He smiled pleadingly with wet emerald eyes as he gazed up into Oliver's own moist, hazel pools.

"You bloody fool, of course I forgive you! You're my soul mate; why wouldn't I forgive the one I love so much that it hurts?"

Oliver placed a kiss to Harry's lips, and Harry gasped his approval as he unleashed his tongue.

"I really am sorry, baby..." Harry whispered, his cheeks streaked with wet trails. "I'd rather die than hurt you..."

"That's sweet, but I don't want to think about what would happen if you were to die. You're my everything, Snitchy..." Oliver said quietly, allowing his sadness to drip onto Harry's shoulder.

"If I ever hurt you, I want you to punch me as hard as you can," Harry ordered him. "Nobody with a heart made of gold like yours deserves to be treated like that."

"I could never punch you, sweetheart," Oliver said, twirling his fingers mindlessly in Harry's hair. "You're my Little Snitch; you're far too valuable to harm."

"Oh Ollie, what would I do without you?" Harry sighed dreamily, nuzzling deeply into his husband's chest. "You wonderful, amazing man, I'm so glad I got Bonded to you. Look at us now; we have a gorgeous little boy together."

"I feel the same way. I love you..."

"I love you too," Harry whispered. "As much as I'm desperate to make love right now, we've got a son to take care of. Come on, let's go and see to him. We can do _other_ things tonight..."

It wasn't until five hours later that James Sirius, who had been crying for most of the time, was finally fed and changed, which had the delightful side effect of making him very sleepy, so Harry and Oliver were both relieved when he drifted off in his crib beside the bed.

"I've been waiting all day for this..." Harry muttered into Oliver's ear as they lay together on the bed. "I think I'll be top tonight. What do you say?"

"I say top me," Oliver said, grinning widely. "Just another few months and we can try for another baby. I love you so much, Snitchy."

"I love you too, baby," Harry locked his lips onto Oliver's neck and let his tongue roam freely over the sensitive skin, all while using one hand to grope the older man's crotch and using the other to stroke inside his shirt.

"Wait," Oliver gasped. "We need to put up Imperturbable Charms so that James Sirius doesn't hear me screaming to the high heavens."

Oliver grabbed his wand from the bedside table and gave it a quick flourish.

"Much better."

Harry returned to servicing Oliver's neck, curling his moist tongue over the crook that adjoined Oliver's head to his shoulders.

"You like that?" Harry whispered when Oliver shuddered beneath him.

"I fucking love it... like everything else you do to me..."

"What say we skip the foreplay and move onto the actual love-making?" Harry suggested lowly. "Think about it: with foreplay, it detracts from the amount of time we can spend having penetrative sex."

"I like your thinking, Potter," Oliver said, his sexy Scottish accent driving Harry insane. "Let's just throw our clothes off then, eh?"

Harry smirked down at Oliver with a hungry glint in his eyes, and they both made light work of their clothes; their shirts, trousers and pants fell to the floor in a collective heap.

"I can never, ever get tired of seeing you like this..." Harry sighed dreamily, clambering back on top of Oliver to clamp their lips together. "Such a beautiful man..."

"I'm all yours, sweetheart," Oliver winked.

Maybe it was a way of Oliver telling Harry that he would always remain loyal, or maybe it was a hint that Oliver wanted to be entered, or possibly both, so Harry took the initiative and grabbed his own wand.

"_Lubrico!_" he muttered, and a thin stream of lubricant trickled out of the end onto Oliver's hole, which he promptly spread the substance on. "_Sterilis!_ Ready? Sharp push..."

Harry aligned himself with Oliver's entrance and gave a relatively hard push forward, causing the head of his swollen cock to slip supply inside.

"That's my Harry!" Oliver cried as Harry slammed directly into his prostate.

The muscles in his arse clamped down around Harry's length, and he could feel every pulse and twitch that the appendage gave.

"If you don't start thrusting soon, I'm going to explode..."

"Can't have that now, can we?" Harry smirked, delivering a golden kiss to Oliver's lips as he slowly drew his dick three quarters of the way out.

Then he plunged back inside with an extremely satisfying sensation of heat and pressure around him, and he and Oliver moaned into each other's mouth.

Oliver's hands wandered blindly around Harry's body, for he was in such a state of foggy-mindedness, even after just a few thrusts, that he could no longer make comprehensible speech.

"If you stop doing that I'm going to throw you across the room," Oliver growled, Harry biting down hard on his neck.

"Why would I, when it feels so good?" Harry growled back with just as much sexual enthusiasm. "And you taste great, as well. Good enough to eat..."

"Eat me up then, sweetheart."

Oliver clawed at Harry's back so fiercely that it drew subtle crimson creases on his skin; Oliver had never been in such a sexual frenzy as this before, and certainly not to the extent that Harry had obtained some form of injury.

"That hurt..." Harry muttered, increasing his thrusting pace to a speed that could have set fire to them both. "But it felt good..."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Oliver whispered. "But you're far too good at this. How am I supposed to stop myself when you're trying to make me scream your name?"

"You're going to scream my name? Keep doing that and I'll push harder and harder until you nearly explode..."

"I'm just about to fucking explode!" Oliver shouted.

Harry stayed true to his word by stabbing harshly inside the older man, who was writhing with want beneath him. Oliver expelled Harry's name with the shrillness of a mermaid above water, and Harry instinctively clapped his hands to the side of his head in order to avoid his eardrums being pierced by the severe shriek.

Unfortunately, the loss of leverage from his hands also had the adverse effect of causing Harry to fall flat forward, his lips accidentally smacking off of Oliver's teeth and causing a rather large bump to inflate on his mouth, with a slight trickle of blood dribbling down his chin.

They probably should have ended it there, but Harry and Oliver continued to make love despite the dull pain in Harry's lip and the apparent ineffectiveness of the lubricant on Oliver's hole.

"This is starting to feel tighter than it should, sweetheart," Oliver tried to say seriously, but he was already hurtling over the edge.

Harry and Oliver screamed in unison. The bed rattled violently against the wall such that cracks riddled the plaster and spread as though an earthquake had struck.

In fact, that was exactly what was occurring. Somewhere deep within the unfathomable chasm of their stomachs, a tectonic movement of immeasurable proportions was shifting their muscles and organs into a fit of eruptive pleasure so forceful that the wall area above the headrest became coated with a thick layer of semen. As the wall was given a sudden paintjob, Harry exploded inside Oliver with the force of a cannon, and his entire pelvic area became slicked with his seminal backwash.

Harry and Oliver's laboured breathing filled the night air, and even though they had been wailing at the height of their lungs, James Sirius remained fast asleep.

"I'm so glad we put those Imperturbable Charms up..." Harry panted, his lip still bleeding. "Best... sex... ever..."

"I can't believe how good that felt, even though the lube was wearing off..." Oliver gulped down huge amounts of air. "Actually... my arse is feeling a little sore now..."

"It is?" Harry said sorrowfully, then he held himself close to Oliver and nuzzled into his chest without withdrawing. "I'm so sorry, baby... I should have stopped when you said that it was too tight..."

"It's alright sweetheart, really," Oliver assured him. "I just had the time of my life and it was all thanks to you, although I don't want to try going dry again..."

"We won't, I promise," Harry stretched his neck up and placed a gentle kiss to Oliver's chin. "I love you, baby. I'm never going to do that again. There was no romance at all..."

"There was a little bit of it," Oliver said comfortingly. "But I think I'd much rather have pure, romantic sex with the man I love to death."

"Me too," Harry sighed dreamily, keeping a few secretive tears in the back of his eyes. How could he have been careless as to hurt the very one who we would die for? "I love you..."

"I love you, sweetheart," Oliver replied. "Now let's get some rest. Hey, it's only two weeks until you graduate from Hogwarts! Think you can manage those two weeks?"

"Yeah, I think I can," Harry kissed Oliver's chest. "The summer, though... well, let's just say I'm not exactly sure about that..."

"At least you can try and apply to be a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," Oliver said light-heartedly.

"That's true. Anyway... goodnight, my love."

"Goodnight."

Two weeks. Was that it? All Harry had to wait before he was finally out into the adult world was two measly weeks, and even though this gave him something to look forward to, the prospect of doing nothing for a further two months whilst he applied for a position at Hogwarts also laid a heavy weight of foreboding on his shoulders. Still, he had Oliver and the baby to keep him company.

Realising that time away from Hogwarts was actually for the best (he would have the time to relax all he liked), Harry resolved to take his entertainment into his own hands, so he took advantage of the two weeks he had until graduation by inviting Hermione, Katie, Dominic and Eddy to their cottage in order to play a little bit of a Quidditch.

Hermione, initially reluctant, eventually warmed up to the idea after much nagging from both Harry and Oliver. Lily and James had said that they would come up as well, but Lily had also said that she wouldn't be flying; she'd look after the baby whilst the game went on.

The day before the scheduled game, Harry and Oliver were sat at the breakfast table, Oliver feeding James Sirius his bottle, when Zeus came soaring through the open window like a great black jet. He dropped a bundle of envelopes and a bag of coins onto the table, then waited patiently on the surface for one of his owners to give him some form of a reward.

"Here you go, Zeus," Harry said lightly, giving him a bit of bacon and petting him on the head.

The owl took his food with a grateful glance at Harry, then he took off again and soared out of the open window once more.

Harry left the bag of coins untouched, knowing that it was a portion of Dominic and Eddy's profits, and then rifled through the envelopes.

"Bill, bill, bill..." Harry mumbled brainlessly. "What's this? I don't recognise the handwriting. Do you know who sent this, Ollie?"

Harry showed Oliver the envelope, to which Oliver shook his head unknowingly. "Not a clue. Might as well open it and see, though."

Oliver lifted James Sirius into the optimal position for burping whilst Harry tore the top off the envelope. Inside was just a plain piece of paper, scrawled with only three words, and no signature...

_Not long now..._

"Not long now..." Harry repeated. "I wonder what that means..."

"It could just mean that there isn't long before graduation. It's only a few days away..."

"Probably," Harry surmised. "But there's no signature or anything..."

"Strange..."

"I'll just let it go for now," Harry said, shaking his head and leaving the befuddled daze he had fallen into. "It probably doesn't mean much anyway."

The next day, Hermione, Katie, Eddy, Dominic, Lily and James arrived, as agreed.

What with Ron being in prison and all, and Mr and Mrs Weasley being very sympathetic towards Hermione, Hermione had been given Ron's broomstick, which she had grown surprisingly well at manipulating to go in her desired direction.

"Not too bad on a broom now, Hermione," Harry commented as she lowered herself into the garden, having flown straight from her house down south.

"It's great to see you again, all of you!" Eddy said gleefully, hugging Harry, Oliver, Hermione, Katie, Lily and James in turn, Dominic doing the same. "How have you all been?"

"Never better!" Harry grinned widely, James Sirius cradled in his arms and Oliver wrapped around him.

"What say we get this game going?" Dominic suggested. "I haven't played Quidditch for years."

"Me neither," said Eddy. "Blue Swan saw to that..."

"Blue Swan's gone now," Harry said flatly. "So is Shadow Dragon. There's no need to think about that anymore..."

The next few minutes very tense indeed, and it was only when Oliver took the initiative and kicked off from the ground that the others were brought out of their funk, taking off themselves.

Harry handed James Sirius to Lily. Then he mounted his Firebolt and lifted off as well.

For what felt like hours they played, and it was only when the sun sunk behind the horizon that they finally admitted defeat to the world's empty darkness.

It had been a very intense game. Hermione made a rather good Chaser, and James had quite a difficult time trying to keep the Quaffle away from her. Harry was the Seeker on his team consisting of himself, Oliver and Hermione, and he could tell that his skills hadn't rusted over at all.

The opposing team consisted of Katie and James as Chasers, Eddy as Seeker and Dominic as Keeper, all of whom made very formidable players. Even though they were down one team member, however, Harry, Oliver and Hermione only just managed to scrape a win, thanks to a surprise appearance by the Golden Snitch and Harry's lightning-quick reflexes.

"That's my Harry!" Oliver cried jovially inside the cottage, sloshing around a jug of Butterbeer. He planted a kiss on Harry's lips. "The youngest Seeker at Hogwarts in a century _and_ the most amazing husband anyone could ever ask for!"

"Come on, Ollie, it wasn't that much of an achievement," Harry said modestly, blushing heavily.

"It was, sweetheart, and you know it!"

"Oh fine then," Harry said loudly. "Back to the present; I graduate from Hogwarts in three days! Three days and I can finally live my life exactly how I want to!"

"To Harry!" Lily shouted, raising a glass of Butterbeer.

"To Harry!" the others toasted.

"To my Little Snitch, the man of my dreams and the only one I'll ever love!" Oliver pulled Harry into a crushing kiss.

The following days went faster than Harry had even considered possible, and before he knew it he was waking up in bed next to the love of his life on the morning of his graduation.

"Good morning, my love," Oliver said sleepily. "Sleep well?"

"I always sleep well next to you, Ollie," Harry hugged Oliver lovingly. "Love you, baby."

"Love you too, sweetheart."

Harry lay with Oliver for a while, letting the time pass him by. The clock on the wall told him that the time was only seven o'clock, and the graduation ceremony didn't begin until ten. They had three hours, two of which could be spent kissing and cuddling.

Harry's plan materialised, and he and Oliver shifted their weight around the bed slightly to get into a more optimum position for getting intimate.

"We can just kiss and cuddle until James Sirius wakes up," Harry said to Oliver, and nodded his approval.

"C'mere, you."

Oliver leaned in to kiss Harry with his soft, red lips, and Harry took a slightly sharp breath in when he felt Oliver's mouth dance over his.

"You have my heart, you have my body, and when we die together, as old men, you can have my soul as well," Harry whispered.

"I can say the same for you," Oliver returned. "My Harry... my wonderful, amazing Harry... the word 'love' just doesn't seem to do justice to the true way I feel about you."

"Who needs words, when we've got a living, breathing child made completely of our own genetic code? That's not something easily done, and it's very rare that two men love each other enough to actually conceive. Now _that_ says a lot."

"It does, doesn't it?" Oliver smiled. "I can't wait until we try for another baby. Once James Sirius can walk properly, we'll have another jewel on the way..."

"I can't wait. I get to be a mother!"

Harry and Oliver lay together on the bed for the next fifty minutes, kissing passionately, until James Sirius finally awoke, alerting them in his usual manner: by crying at the height of his lungs.

"Shh, shh... there, there, James Sirius, Mummy's here," Oliver held James Sirius close to his body in the kitchen while Harry prepared a bottle. "You poor thing, you must be starving!"

Harry took the bottle of milk out of the jug of cold water he had put it in to cool down and splashed a few drops on his wrist to test it, deciding that the temperature was just right for the baby to drink without burning his mouth.

"Look what Daddy's got for you!" Oliver said, taking the bottle of milk from Harry. He lowered it to the baby's lips with a loving gaze that only a mother could give. "Always here for you, isn't he? Well, he's always going to be here for you. Mummy loves you... Daddy loves you..."

"And we'll always love you, little one," Harry beamed down upon his son, marvelling at remarkably familiar features he recognised as being primarily Oliver's.

The only signs Harry could see of himself in this little treasure were the shock of jet black hair and delicate button nose, but other than that he was entirely Oliver. From his bright hazel eyes to the structure of his cheeks, James Sirius was the embodiment of all that was perfect in the world, Harry's world in particular, and Harry would do anything he could to raise him knowing just how precious he was, just how much he meant to his parents, for neither Harry nor Oliver wanted him to grow up in a place filled with conflict, as many unfortunate children had.

Oliver withdrew the teat from James Sirius' mouth, the bottle being finally empty, and then positioned him on his shoulder in a way that would allow easy burping.

James Sirius squawked, and Harry's heart fluttered.

"Want to go and see Daddy?" Oliver gently passed the baby over to Harry, who instantly sat down at the kitchen table with the little bundle of joy nestled against his chest. "You look after him while I make us some breakfast, sweetheart."

"I'd be delighted," Harry couldn't help himself but smile foolishly down upon his and Oliver's creation. "Hello, you beautiful little guy. Daddy finishes his time at school today, and you and Mummy are coming to see me! Can you wait? I know I can't."

"What would you like on your toast, Harry? We have strawberry jam, lemon curd, golden syrup, Nutella and good old butter."

"Nutella, please."

Oliver placed two plates of toast on the kitchen table and went into the living room to bring James Sirius' pram through.

"There you go," he grunted as he lifted his son out of Harry's arms and into the pram; the baby had grown considerably heavier over the last month or so. "Oof. You're getting heavy, son."

Harry and Oliver ate their breakfast in earnest, Harry casting Oliver nervous glances every few minutes or so. Eventually, when they had finished eating, they headed out of the door into the sun-drenched mid-morning.

From down here in Hogsmeade, Hogwarts was but a turreted silhouette against the burning orb in the sky, partially enshrouding the nearby village in its domineering shadow.

Harry intertwined his fingers with Oliver's, seeking comfort for an unknown reason, as they walked leisurely through the labyrinth of streets and pathways Hogsmeade consisted of.

"Harry! Oliver!" a familiar voice shouted from afar as they emerged onto the High Street leading up to the castle.

"Hello, Monica!" Harry shouted across the way. "We're going up to the castle for my graduation now!"

"I guessed!" Monica called back. "I'm taking Amy there now!"

Amy came out of a nearby shop carrying a lumpy, woven bag. "Mum, do we have to buy all of these turnips right now? Can't it wait until I've graduated?"

"No it can't," Monica said flatly. "Now come on, we need to get going!"

"Harry! Oliver!" a second voice rang down the High Street, but this time Harry recognised it immediately.

"Hermione! I was just wondering where you'd got to!"

"I was just buying a couple of books," Hermione panted after she had ran all the way up to them. "Oh hello, James Sirius. How's the baby doing?"

"He's doing just fine," Oliver grinned, looking down into the pram at a wide-awake James Sirius. "Aren't you, son?"

"It's only twenty minutes until the ceremony starts, come on," Hermione said hurriedly, and she carted Harry and Oliver towards the castle.

When they reached the double front doors of the castle, Harry saw that there were four rather peculiar trails of ribbons leading down the sloping lawns towards the Black Lake, where a sea of chairs could be seen covered in black gowns and mortarboards. There were already quite a few students sat down.

"It's obvious where the ribbons lead to," Hermione commented. "The red ones should be followed by Gryffindor, green by Slytherin and so on. We should go down there and put our gowns on before we're late."

She walked ahead of Harry, who hung back for a little while longer to give Oliver a sweet kiss and hug his son before making his way down towards the high platform by the lakeshore.

As they walked along the track of red ribbon, Harry and Hermione scanned the ocean of black in front of them for two spare seats. They found two near the front of the congregation and sat down, Oliver waiting on the sidelines with James Sirius laying quietly in his pram.

Another ten minutes passed, and the final few students yet to arrive finally slumped into their seats, throwing on their robes and hats.

A wide array of teachers, some more familiar than others, strode onto the stage wearing the smartest dress robes that Harry had ever seen, in a rainbow of colours, too. Red, yellow, green and blue were the most prominent of the colours, clearly pertaining to each individual teacher's house. Then, in a great, glorious sweeping of his deepest-blue robes, Professor Dumbledore drifted along the platform, halting at the centre where a podium was flanked by several rows of teachers' chairs, which promptly became occupied.

"Graduates!" his voice boomed with the kind of fatherly pride that Harry himself had exuberated often over the last couple of months. He spread his arms wide as though hugging the congregation. "Your time at Hogwarts has come to an end! What an adventurous seven years it has been for you all, some more than others," he tilted his head ever-so-slightly in Harry's direction. "Nonetheless, I am proud of each and every one of you, as any good headmaster should feel towards all of his students.  
"You have all been family towards one another, even though some of you have only recently ended your conflict with a fellow house. Your strength, courage, loyalty and cunning have all proved to be extremely useful in the face of adversity, and I would like to take the time to thank every one of you present for making these past seven years special not just for myself or my teachers, but for yourselves as well. It is the relationships we strike up in life and those who we choose to associate with that make us who we are, and by resolving all of your problems like you have, you have shown that you are all mature enough to tackle the real world. I think I speak for all of us, not just myself but your teachers as well, that we are all very proud of how far you have advanced, and such a cultural diversity between you all is what makes the world what it is today.  
"Some of you may move onto working as high-ranked members of the Ministry of Magic, and some of you may move on to work in lower-paid job roles, but I hope that you will use the lessons learned at Hogwarts to understand that, no matter what background we have, we are all people. We are all equals. We are all family.  
"Now that the speech is out of the way, we shall move onto the handing-out of your NEWT results, which will be presented to you in person by your Head of House. First off, Slytherin house."

Harry and Hermione watched as the students of Slytherin were called up onto the stage one at a time and were given an envelope by an emerald-dressed Severus Snape, whose crooked smile appeared to be more of a leer despite his good nature.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a red-headed woman and a wild black-haired man standing next to Oliver; his parents. With a sigh of relief, he nudged Hermione gently in the ribs and nodded towards them. Hermione smiled at him, and then her attention was drawn away from the stage as well when she saw her own parents striding down the sloping lawns. Harry saw Hermione's eyes shimmer with happiness, and felt a strange moisture make itself apparent down his cheeks. He was crying with happiness.

Hufflepuff was beckoned forward, then Ravenclaw, and each student met up with their family once they had left the stage. Finally, Gryffindor students started being called up, and none were as excited to get their results as Neville, whose girlfriend, Luna, waited at the side with his grandmother.

"Longbottom, Neville!" Professor McGonagall read, reminding Harry heavily of the very first time he had entered the Great Hall, which also had the pleasant side effect of him remembering seeing Oliver, the man he cherished with the whole of his existence, for the first time as well.

Neville, blushing almost as red as the momentary glint coming from the nearby Forbidden Forest-

Harry snapped his neck round in an instant. Something that bright shouldn't have been in the Forest. Then there was another glint, and this time Harry realised that it was just the sun reflecting off the glossy Gryffindor ribbon. Harry mentally slapped himself for being so skittish and then returned his gaze to the stage in front.

Thinner and thinner the gathered students became, and after another ten minutes, the only ones left were Harry, Hermione, Dean and Seamus, who was the next to be called up. After came Dean, who almost skipped up to the stage and, after collecting his enveloped results, _actually_ skipped away into Seamus' arms.

"Granger, Hermione!" Professor McGonagall said loudly, and her voice held a hint of knowing.

Hermione grinned at Harry, then she made her way up to the stage, her black gown billowing out behind her. When she reached Professor McGonagall, all she received were her envelope of results and a very subtle smile, disguised in the swift movement of a nod. Hermione left the stage, meaning Harry was the final student to get his results. It was rather odd considering there were students whose names were lower than his in the alphabet, but he didn't challenge it.

"Potter-Wood, Harry!"

Harry's heart hammered even though there were no eyes watching him apart from those of Oliver, Hermione, Lily and James. James gave him a thumbs-up whilst Oliver mouthed the three words that always made his heart flutter.

His foot hit the first step and he smiled to himself. This was a lot easier than he thought, so when he made it to the top of the stairs, all he felt was elation that his schooldays were truly done.

Expecting his results being given to him by Professor McGonagall, Harry was pleasantly surprised to find that it was Professor Dumbledore who would be dealing him his fateful hand.

"I think you'll find these results to be quite satisfactory," Dumbledore winked at him and gave him the envelope, then he patted him on the back and sent him on his way.

It all happened rather quickly. One minute Harry was sat in his chair, waiting to be called up for his results, the next he was being practically crushed in Oliver's most loving embrace yet, and as his head had fiery kisses rained down upon it, it hadn't fully sank in that his adult life was only just beginning.

"I'm so proud of you, Harry!" Oliver said with joy. "So, so proud!"

Harry let himself be bombarded by hugs from all sides, and watched as Neville spoke to Luna a few feet away.

They started walking off towards the Forbidden Forest together, and Harry was rather curious to know why they were skulking off somewhere like that.

"Why are we this far in the Forbidden Forest, Neville?" Luna said in the same dreamy manner that always accompanied her voice. "Is there something you wanted to show me?"

"Sort of," Neville replied, rummaging around in his pocket for something. "Just take a look around while I find something."

"Okay," Luna said, as though she was adrift on the ocean.

She wandered mindlessly around the enclosure that Neville had brought them to, one that used to hold Thestrals.

"Don't go too far away, okay?" Neville asked.

"Okay."

Her hands outstretched like a butterfly, she felt along anything her hands came into contact with. A wooden fence, a blunt, rusty nail, something leathery, then a bumpy something. Deeply-grooved and scrunched up like the bonnet of a crashed car, she thought she could feel a horn. She traced her hand back along the rubbery something, and this time she looked at it with eyes filled with joy and fulfilment, and her voice was no longer dreamy as it had been before.

"I'VE FOUND IT!" she squealed. "I'VE FOUND THE CRUMPLE-HORNED SNORKACK!"

"You've what?!" Neville shouted in delight. "Oh Luna, I'm so happy for you! But... aren't Crumple-Horned Snorkacks supposed to live in Sweden?"

"They are, but I know that this is a Crumple-Horned Snorkack; look at its horn, its leathery skin, its hooves! It's exactly how my father said that they were supposed to look!"

"Luna, can I ask you something?" Neville said, finding the something from his pocket and getting onto one knee.

"Yes, Neville- oh my!" Luna gasped in shock, for Neville had opened up a delicate black box. Contained within was a relatively small, golden ring, inscribed with a simple message and no jewel. It read:

_With this discovery, I know you will be happy. Can I make you happier by being your husband?_

"You... you knew it was here?" Luna stammered.

"Yes. I've known for a while now; I found it a couple of months back. I thought I'd bring you to it and then propose to you. What do you say, Luna?"

"I say 'yes'!" Luna said happily.

Neville sprang to his feet, grinning from ear to ear. Then he made to pull Luna into a hug, but there was a rather sharp pain coming from his abdomen.

"Ow," he groaned. "I've got a stomach ache. Better see Madame Pomfrey before I leave for good. She won't be pleased-"

"Neville?" Luna whimpered, pointing to his stomach, from which protruded the sharp end of a very shiny blade.

The front of Luna's blouse was splattered with red, and Neville's mouth began to spill blood onto the dried leaves beneath their feet, joining the substance already dribbling from his stomach. Neville's eyes rolled into the back of his skull and he gave a deep, guttural groan, which sounded disturbingly like a gurgle.

"L-Luna..."

With his last breath, he fell backwards, revealing nothing but the vast network of trees behind him, and as the hilt of the blade bore his weight, it pushed through even deeper, a tiny spurt of scarlet shooting from the wound on his stomach.

"Neville!" Luna screamed, hurrying to Neville's side and trying desperately to revive, but to no avail. "No!"

"Yes, my dear!" a low voice growled, and a great, looming shadow bolted from behind a nearby tree, closing in on her with such speed that she would have been impaled by another gleaming blade, were it not for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack that bravely jumped in front of her, allowing her time to flee.

She ran. It was all she could do. Her fresh fiancé had just been ruthlessly murdered and there was nothing she could do to try and fix that.

Hurdling over logs and upturned trees she went, kicking off her high-heeled shoes so that she could have more speed, and when she glanced behind her she that she was being chased, not that she expected any less.

The dry leaves crunched beneath her feet like gunshots amidst the frigid Forest's silence, the shadow making not a single sound as it galloped along like a lion.

Flocks of birds exploded from their branches and she weaved in and around the complex of trees, desperate to find the smallest sign that could hint at her potential safety. Then she saw it.

Light. Glorious light. If she could make it to the clearing she would be safe. Safe to join the others and alert them of the killer.

Lightning bolts of adrenaline coursed through her veins, making her feel extremely numb, but she stormed on.

Her breathing ragged and her heart hammering faster than what was safe, she glanced back to see that she was losing the killer, and when she heard what sounded like a spring, followed by a giant thwacking sound, she gave a final burst of speed, veering a sharp right to head back to the lakeshore; sanctuary.

Chest heaving and full of what felt like a stitch, Luna stumbled underneath a gazebo where the graduates and their families had gathered for the celebration.

"Killer... in the Forbidden Forest..." she panted. "Neville... murdered..."

"Luna?" Hermione said anxiously, taking a very tentative step forward and pointing at Luna's blood-soaked clothing.

Luna looked down and realised what the spring back in the Forest actually was. She gasped in pain, clutching the arrowhead that was protruding from her chest, then she collapsed to the grass, as cold as stone.


	9. The Lovegood Inquiry

**Chapter Nine – The Lovegood Inquiry**

"W-What did she say?" Bridgett stuttered, having arrived shortly after Harry had received his results.

"I-I think she said... '_killer_'..." a nearby woman said, horrified. "In the Forest, as well..."

"Forest?" Monica said in a tone that seemed oddly sharp considering the current situation.

She pushed through the huddle of people around Luna's body until she met no resistance and then crouched beside the bloody, matted mess of hair which usually shone like a beacon no matter what time of day it was.

"She isn't breathing..."

"You mean she's... dead?"

"That's exactly what I mean," Monica took out her wand and gave it harsh jab, watching the resulting silvery wisp shoot through the air until it was swallowed up by the horizon. "I'm going into the Forbidden Forest to investigate. Nobody is to follow me under any circumstances by threat of a term in Azkaban, got it? You three especially," she added with a curt nod in Harry, Oliver and Hermione's general direction.

Harry watched as she stood up, stared around at the crowd for a few seconds, and then jogged towards the outer edges of the Forbidden Forest, her wand held closely by her side. From the moment she touched the darkness, she became consumed in its depth, and the group beneath the compact gazebo broke into hysterics.

"Dead?!"

"Poor girl!"

"Neville?! Where's my grandson?!"

"So young..."

"So much ahead of her..."

"So pretty!"

"Such a terrible loss..."

"Silence!" Dumbledore roared over the tumult, wand aimed at his throat, and the crowd fell into a death-like silence.

Harry, Oliver and Hermione stood amongst the horrified and confused, the air crackling like lightning around them as they waited with bated breath for further instruction from the headmaster.

"Everyone is to gather in the Great Hall immediately! Any who decide to take detours," he gave a particularly icy glance in Harry's direction, as though suspecting him to go wandering like he used to. "shall be dealt with severely. Failing to follow these commands could result in a short term in Azkaban for obstruction of justice. Go!"

Harry had never heard Dumbledore speak like this, and for the first time in his life he felt a slight twinge of fear towards the usually kind headmaster.

"It's alright, sweetheart," Oliver said comfortingly. "Come on, let's get moving before he rages anymore."

"Quiet, he might hear you..." Harry said lowly, keeping himself close to Oliver as Hermione and the others tailed their feet.

"Where's James Sirius?" Oliver said suddenly. "Where's my little boy?"

"He's right here, Oliver, calm down," Lily murmured. "You're getting a little overprotective..."

"How could you say that?" Oliver said, sounding hurt. He took the pram from Lily. "I never thought I'd have children, so I'm obviously going to make sure that this little wonder is perfectly safe."

"Now isn't the time for this, baby," Harry said, patting Oliver's chest. "We need to move faster before we get left behind."

"Okay..." Oliver said unsurely, contenting himself with pulling silly faces at James Sirius. "I love you, Snitchy."

"I love you too, Ollie," Harry joined in with the face-pulling, and the resulting giggles of joy were the only other sound in the air apart from the crunching grass and a ripple of nervous chatter among the throng of concerned parents and graduates.

Mrs Longbottom couldn't stop asking where Neville had got to, and it was when Harry remembered that he saw Neville and Luna walking into the Forbidden Forest that he realised something terrible had happened to the both of them. His heart sank into the deep pit of his stomach as he was filled with a consuming sense of painful sympathy, both for the woman who had lost her grandson and Neville himself, as well as Luna, who Harry considered to be a very interesting girl with so much ahead of her in life.

But that had all been slowly dragged away from her the moment the arrow had pierced her flesh and drilled its way through her chest cavity. She was gone now, and so was Neville. Although Harry felt pain less than that when Ron had died those few months back, his heart still stabbed as though someone had punctured it with an icicle. Cold and numb, Harry bit back the tears fighting to forefront of his eyes, intent on maintaining his composure in front of the mass of people, and as the Entrance Hall was flooded with the grieving, it only became more difficult to keep his emotions intact.

"Let it out, sweetheart," Oliver whispered to him, placing a gentle kiss to forehead. "I know you want to. Cry into my chest."

"Okay..." Harry mumbled, burying his face into Oliver's chest and taking in his unique scent, before opening the floodgates and allowing his eyes to leak, accompanied by acute sniffing.

In no time at all, Oliver's shirt was soaked through, but being the loving husband that he was, all he did was stand there and let Harry continue, pushing the pram back and forth to keep James Sirius quiet.

Professor Dumbledore opened the doors to the Great Hall. It seemed that everyone was very eager to find an available seat; the Great Hall had been lain out with twenty tables, all surrounded by at least ten chairs and covered in black cloth, which proudly presented the Hogwarts crest.

"Attention," Dumbledore said. It was not a request. "You are all to remain in the Great Hall until the Department of Magical Law Enforcement arrives and conducts their investigation. As Miss Lovegood's death was not due to magical causes, we must also involve the Muggle police force in Hogsmeade, who will be working very closely to find the killer."

"Professor Dumbledore?" Monica strode into the Great Hall, and Harry realised with overwhelming sympathy that Amy was sat in a far corner of the room, completely alone. "If I may?"

"Yes, Miss... Excuse me, but who exactly are you?"

"Monica Geller, Department Head in the Auror Office at the Ministry of Magic and lead investigator of the current double-murder case," she said impressively, flashing a golden badge at the headmaster. "Is there an Augusta Longbottom in here?"

"Y-Yes..." a timid voice came from a nearby table.

"I'm terribly sorry... there's no easy way for me to say this but... I'm afraid your grandson is... no longer with us... I offer you my sincerest apologies..."

There was not a sound throughout the entire Great Hall, save for a few light whimpers that Harry assumed to be coming from Mrs Longbottom. Then he heard a chair scraping and the oversized form of an eagled green hat and dress ran from the room, distressed cries and wails following it out of the doors that swung in its momentum.

Oliver took Harry's hand and gave it a comforting squeeze, mouthing that three-worded phrase he knew could give Harry some sense of relief. Harry's heart fluttered as it always did when Oliver showed him affection, but it did little to ease his pain at that time. Oliver must have sensed this; when Harry's glum expression failed to falter, he had no other option but to pull the derailed man into his arms.

"Everything's going to be okay, sweetheart, I promise you," Oliver gave Harry's back a soothing stroke, which helped to ease his tense muscles and dried-up tear well. "I'll never let anything happen to you or the baby. While I'm around, nobody can touch you."

"Thank you, baby," Harry sniffled, nuzzling himself subconsciously into Oliver's chest. "You're such a amazing man. I don't deserve you..."

"You listen to me right now," Oliver said, suddenly stern. He pushed Harry away from him and gave him a penetrating stare. "I don't ever want to hear you talking like that again. Don't deserve me, indeed... You deserve every ounce of love I can give you. You deserve to be the father to my son. You deserve the family you have! I love you, James Sirius loves you, your parents love you, Hermione loves you... Hell, even your Aunt Petunia loves you! You haven't forgotten that little bit of information, have you? She left your uncle because she'd had enough of his crap. You deserve me, Harry. If you really do think as highly of me as you make out to, you'd realise that karma is rewarding you after all that we've been through."

Harry remained silent, gazing wetly into the beautiful hazel eyes of the man he had fallen in love with so long ago. Then, so quiet that it could have been a whisper, he said, "So I _do_ deserve you... I love you, Ollie..."

"I love you too," Oliver said, his eyes softening. "Come here, you daft sod. What made you think that you didn't deserve me? Actually, don't answer that. I'd prefer for you to be happy, or at least as happy as one can be in a situation like this."

"Hold me, Oliver," Harry said sadly. "I want to feel you close to me."

"I'd be glad to," Oliver said gently, hugging Harry tightly but with deepest, unmistakable love. "Take as long as you need. These next few weeks are going to be difficult."

"As Professor Dumbledore has told you, the Muggle police force from Hogsmeade are assisting the Ministry in conducting their investigation. I must, therefore, ask all of you to be as helpful as you can and for none of you to interfere. Doing so will result in a brief stint in Azkaban."

At her words, the double doors opened and a group of four police officers sauntered in, looking prim and proper in their black uniforms and stab vests. They addressed the gathered and Professor Dumbledore with a very short nod, remaining as silent as soldiers in the night as their eyes scrolled along the many heads in the Great Hall that had turned to face them.

One of them stepped forward; a lanky man with spiky black hair and a rather long face, he spoke in a monotone, droning voice. "I'm Police Constable Ross Geller and I'll be in charge from the non-magical end of the investigation. We currently have three teams searching the Forbidden Forest and the surrounding area. As there is no telling how long this could take, we suggest that you make yourselves comfortable. There is a lot of questioning to be done, so if you cooperate to your fullest potential this whole ordeal will go much quicker. Now, did anybody see Mr Longbottom and Miss Lovegood shortly before their deaths?"

"I saw them walking into the Forbidden Forest," Harry said, the sound louder than he intended.

"That's who we want to interrogate first," Harry heard Ross mutter. "Don't let him out of your sight."

"Sir, that's Harry Potter!" one of the other officers said excitedly. "We're going to interrogate _the_ Harry Potter?"

"I prefer the surname 'Potter_-Wood_'," Harry said proudly, cutting Oliver an affectionate smile. "I _am_ Bonded, you know?"

"Quite," Ross said dismissively. "Hurry up, boy! We haven't got all day!"

"I won't be long," Harry assured Oliver, but Oliver stood with him.

"I'm coming with him," Oliver said matter-of-factly. "I know how you work, and I'm not going to let you intimidate my husband. You either interrogate us together, or not at all. What's it going to be?"

There was an uncertain murmuring amongst the other three police officers, but eventually they nodded in agreement, and it appeared as though Ross had no choice over the matter.

"Very well," he sighed. "If you're that insistent on holding your husband's hand, fine."

"Look after the baby for us," Harry whispered to Lily. "We won't be long."

He and Oliver, hand-in-hand, walked into the centre of the Great Hall, all eyes focussed directly on them in a manner one would expect from ravenous bald eagles when trekking through the desert.

"Come with me," Ross commanded, and he paced out of the Great Hall, followed closely by the other three officers. He left the room in a manner that dripped with authority.

"So, Mr _Potter-Wood_," Police Constable Geller said snootily as he, Harry and Oliver sat down in a vacant classroom in the Astronomy Tower. "When and where exactly did you see Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood?"

"I'd just collected my NEWT results," Harry explained. "I was the last one to get them. When I stepped off the stage and went back to Oliver and James Sirius – our _biological_ son – I saw Neville speaking to Luna about something, but I couldn't hear what. After that, they started walking into the Forbidden Forest and that's the last I saw of them."

"What would you say your relationship with the two victims was like?"

Harry's heart panged at the word 'victims'. It reminded him that Neville and Luna were not coming back. "We were good friends. I wasn't as close to them as I am to Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, but I don't really care for Ron..."

"Ronald Weasley?" PC Geller repeated. "The redheaded man who tried to kill Hermione Granger?"

"That's the one. What are you asking for?"

"Mr Potter-Wood, I don't quite know how to say this but... Mr Weasley has been released from prison due to an improperly signed search warrant..."

"What?!" Harry said loudly. "What do you mean, released from prison?!"

"Please, calm down," PC Geller said placidly. "It is very unlikely that he will come anywhere near you or Miss Granger at the current time."

"When was he released?" Oliver asked, stroking a hyperventilating Harry soothingly on the back.

"About a month ago."

"He's been out all this time and we weren't alerted?!" Harry shouted. "Oh shit..."

"What's wrong, Harry?" Oliver said concernedly.

"When we were standing next to the stage, I thought I saw something red moving in the trees..."

"I see what you're getting at... Ron's hair... Sweetheart, why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought it was just a trick of the light," said Harry. "Something red flashed in my eyes, and when I looked I saw the sun reflecting off of the Gryffindor ribbon. How was I to know that Ron could have been around..."

"Perkins, Jervis, Sampson," Ross called, and the other three officers bustled into the room. "Make sure that the investigation squad scours every last inch of the Forbidden Forest. Our killer might be Ronald Weasley."

"Want me to run a background check to make sure, sir?"

"Yes, Perkins. That would be very helpful."

"I think I'm going to be sick..." Harry muttered, and he pelted from the room, Oliver running right along behind him, with PC Geller following closely.

Up several flights of stairs Harry went, desperately looking for a bathroom. Or somewhere with a bucket, at least.

At last he found an old broom closet and, feeling the acidic bile rising up his gullet, he hauled open the door.

He tried to scream but the sound was made redundant by a fountain of vomit that splashed down the oak doorframe, for he had never laid eyes upon a more terrifying or stomach-churning sight as the two mangled bodies that had toppled into the corridor.


	10. The Lost Toad

**Chapter Ten – The Lost Toad**

"Holy shit!" Perkins shouted, staring aghast at the bodies on the floor.

"Harry?" Oliver waved his hand frantically in front of a blankly staring Harry. "Come on, sweetheart, say something!"

"I... I..."

"Jervis, call the station. We're going to need a bigger forensics team," PC Geller ordered. "Mr Potter-Wood – I'm talking to Harry – I need you to come back into the room so that I can question you some more-"

"You're getting nothing," Oliver said bitterly, tearing Harry's eyes away from the horrific scene in front of them. He pulled Harry close to his chest. "I'm taking my husband and son back home, away from this hellhole and the likes of you, who think it's perfectly acceptable to bother someone who is so obviously in a state of shock!"

"You leave me with no choice," PC Geller, brandishing two pairs of handcuffs, but Oliver was quick off the mark and had drawn his wand in the blink of an eye.

"Don't even think about it. We've faced challenges far beyond your understanding of the magical world, so if you or your men make even one attempt to arrest Harry or myself, you'll find yourself with a hell of a lot more problems than what you already have. Got it?"

The Police Constable's demeanour remained just as unfaltering and expressionless as it had when the two bodies had flopped out of the broom cupboard. The only difference in his outward appearance now was a very stony glint in his eyes.

"Fine," he said stiffly. "But I'll be back with more questions once your _husband_ has come around. That, I can assure you."

Oliver's brow was furrowed so harshly that it was a miracle he could see past the fine hairs. Keeping Harry closely to his side, he marched down the corridor until he could see the path towards the Grand Staircase at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower.

"Oh, Mr Potter-Wood?"

"What?"

"Consider you _both_ suspects."

"You don't have any evidence to suggest that. Besides, we already have an alibi that's as solid as that thick skull of yours," Oliver said with a victorious chuckle. "Nice try, though."

"This isn't the last you'll see or hear of me," PC Geller warned him.

"I'm sure it isn't. But if you come anywhere near me or my family, I'll make sure to file a complaint with the Independent Police Complaints Commission for harassment. Clear?"

A metallic rattling came from beside him, where one of the other officers was stood.

"Do you really want to do that?" Oliver asked, raising an eyebrow.

The officer gave him a terrified glance and put the handcuffs back in his pocket.

"Good. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going back home to look after my family. Come on, sweetheart..."

"O-Oliver?" Harry trembled.

"Shhhh. It's alright, Harry, I'm here. Come on, let's go and get James Sirius and head on home."

"O-Okay..." Harry said timidly.

"There they are," Hermione sighed in relief. "Wait, what's happened to Harry?"

"Harry?" Lily said worriedly.

Then, noticing Harry's pallid expression and emotionless eyes, she bulleted out of the Great Hall towards the bottom of the staircase in the Entrance Hall, where she yanked the traumatised young man out of Oliver's arms and held him tightly.

"Harry my boy, what's happened? What's wrong?"

"Want Oliver..." Harry mumbled, and he wriggled himself free from Lily's grasp.

"Why your husband; why not your own mother?" Lily said disappointedly, but she retracted when the question when James, who had came rattling behind her with James Sirius in his pram, shot her a darkly reproving look.

"Come here..." Oliver said quietly, beckoning Harry towards him.

No sooner had Harry touched Oliver's chest did he burrow himself deeply into the tight muscle, and for the first time in what felt like years, his emotions were finally released. Like a tsunami of unrelieved anguish and torment, Harry's eyes rained into Oliver's shirt, and he sobbed and whimpered for minutes on end without coming up for air. All Oliver could so was stroke him lovingly on the back and hope to the high heavens that his pain would end soon; otherwise, Oliver would have to calm Harry down by physical means, which didn't seem like all-too-bad idea. The question was whether Harry would be up to it.

"Need love..." Harry muttered. "Ollie... help me..."

"Don't worry, my love, I'll help you soon. Let's get home first and sort James Sirius out, then I can focus on making you feel better. You just carry on crying."

"I'll push the pram down to the cottage while you walk with Harry," James said, casting a sad, sympathetic look at Harry.

"Thanks, James," Oliver smiled.

There was an excitable murmuring in the Great Hall, but Harry, Oliver, James, Lily and Hermione ignored it as they made their way out of the castle and down the sloping lawns towards Hogsmeade, beyond which glowered a steadily-darkening horizon.

"You go straight up to bed," Oliver said flatly to Harry once they had stepped over the threshold into their warm cottage, which Dobby must have taken the liberty to heat whilst they were out.

The lights in the toy houses of Hogsmeade burned dully beneath the veil of darkness that hung over them like a demonic denizen, and a thick mist slithered through the many streets, obscuring most of Hogwarts castle from view even if you were stood at the very outskirts of the village.

"I'll be up soon. Just making sure that James Sirius is taken care of and asleep."

Harry climbed the stairs, still looking as solemn as ever. Every time he saw Harry in a mood such as this, Oliver's heart tore into two, and he hoped that it wouldn't be long before he could join him in bed to give him some much-needed care and attention.

When Oliver sat down in the silent living room, James Sirius suckling genially on a milk bottle, he just couldn't take his mind off the things that would be running through Harry's head.

Anxiety, terror, depression... Harry's pain must have been nigh on unbearable.

"My poor Harry..." Oliver muttered sadly to himself, feeling a burning sensation at the back of his eyes.

James Sirius pushed the bottle away from his mouth, but he wouldn't accept it when Oliver tried to give it back to him to continue the feed.

"Come on, little James, Mummy wants you to grow up to be big and strong."

A strange liquid sound came from the baby, and the next thing Oliver knew, he was plastered with sick.

"Oh dear. Best get it up, son."

Oliver turned the baby over and slowly rubbed in small circles on his back, but nothing came, liquid or burping. When he was satisfied that the baby wouldn't be throwing up again any time soon, Oliver laid him on the only clean cushion of the sofa and went into the kitchen to put his clothes in the washing machine.

But when Oliver came back into the room, he was astounded at the sight that met him; James Sirius, moving his hands around the sofa and feeling its leathery texture, was sat upright, completely unsupported.

"Harry!" Oliver shouted excitedly. "The baby's sitting up on his own!"

Such a reaction Oliver hadn't expected due to Harry's downtrodden mood, but the thundering of heavy footsteps from above told the story of a man whose son could brighten even the darkest of days.

Oliver ran over to a giggling James Sirius, who found his mother's ecstasy to be highly amusing, and lifted him into his arms, happy tears dribbling down his front as Harry joined them in the living room with a face that showed no signs of misery. In fact, Harry was proudly displaying a huge grin across his now colourful face as he engaged his family in a lethal hug, allowing the joyous moment to completely take over him and wipe out any melancholy within him, for he knew that this would be one of many parental moments to come that would ensure his continued love for all that he held dear.

"Oliver... James Sirius..." Harry sniffed looking at each one in turn with glistening eyes. "I love you both so much..."

"Harry, you're back!" Oliver said jovially, and his lips entangled themselves around Harry's to deliver one of his most passionate kisses yet. "I was starting to worry that I'd lost you for good there..."

"With a family like this?" Harry chuckled. "I'd be mad to let myself lose such a loving husband and a beautiful son! Even so..."

"Yeah, I know..." Oliver said comfortingly, and he pulled Harry into an intimate hug. "It still hurts..."

"Yeah..." Harry said glumly. "But at least I've got something to cheer me up!"

"You might have something else, as well," Oliver nodded towards the sofa. "You still haven't opened your NEWT results. Come on then, future Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, let's see how you did!"

Harry grinned widely, but felt a small part of himself squirming in unease as he moved over to the sofa, flicking his wand to clean the cushion before placing himself down next to the ominous brown envelope, which he picked up and tossed mindlessly in his fingers.

"What if my results are bad?" Harry fretted. "What if I don't have the right qualifications to be a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

"What grades do you need to move onto training to be a teacher?" Oliver was determined to help Harry work out where he stood with his current situation.

"I need Exceeds Expectations in Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions, as a bare minimum. Herbology, History of Magic, Arithmancy and Muggle Studies can be Acceptable at the least. Divination and Astronomy aren't really relevant, so I'm safe with those."

"I've got plenty of confidence that you'll have passed your NEWTs with flying colours, sweetheart," Oliver said encouragingly, and he gave Harry a pat on the back.

"Let's hope so. If I _have_ passed my exams, I'll be able to apply for the position at Hogwarts as soon as term ends," Harry glanced scarcely at the intimidating envelope in front of him, and after a bit more encouragement from Oliver he finally found the courage to tear open the top.

The first rip felt like he was devaluing what lie in wait for him, and as he slipped the sheaf of parchment out of its concealing prison, his heart rate quickened.

_NEWT Examination Results: Mr Harry James Potter-Wood_

_Charms – O  
Transfiguration – E  
Defence Against the Dark Arts – O  
Potions – O  
Herbology – O  
History of Magic – O  
Arithmancy – E  
Muggle Studies – O  
Divination – A  
Astronomy – A_

"Well done, Harry!" Oliver said loudly. "You have no idea just how proud I am of you! I know someone who's getting whatever he wants in bed tonight!"

"I-I passed..." Harry stammered, hardly daring to believe that his career path ahead was clearer than ever before. "Baby... I passed..."

"I know!" Oliver said. "I'm so, so, _so_ proud of you, sweetheart! Let's try and get James Sirius to sleep then we can make with the loving, however you want it."

"I think we have some Sleeping Potion for babies in the cupboard in the kitchen," Harry said emotionlessly. This really was too much to take in at once. "It's a pinkish liquid, smells like strawberries."

Harry sat on the sofa collecting his thoughts while Oliver went into the kitchen.

The day had been more eventful than Harry would have liked, especially with the sudden murders of Neville and Luna, but his NEWT results made him impervious to feeling an emotion other than those which he was swelling with; pride, glee, and an almost overwhelming feeling of love and affection for his son and husband.

"I love you!" Harry called.

As always, Oliver replied, "I love you too, sweetheart."

Oliver came back into the living room carrying a small bottle of potion and a baby spoon, which he promptly filled with one measurement of pinkish liquid and tipped it into James Sirius' mouth. The baby smacked his lips at the strawberry taste and gave Oliver a look to say that he wanted more, but after another few seconds his eyelids began to droop and he flopped backwards, being saved by a quick-to-act Oliver.

"Look at him..." Oliver cooed. "Sleeping like the little angel he is..."

"Goodnight, son," Harry said quietly, and he placed a gentle kiss to the baby's forehead. "Our special little boy."

"I can't believe how quick that got to work..." Oliver said. "Come on, let's get him into his cot. It's nearly nine o'clock as it is."

"Then we can get down to the fun stuff..." Harry muttered in Oliver's ear.

It seemed like aeons before they reached the landing of the stairs, and as they made their way into the pitch black bedroom, Harry accidentally stubbed his toe on the corner of the baby's cot.

"Found the cot," he said in a strangled voice, blinking through the dull pain in his toe. The baby would remain asleep for ten hours, thanks to the Sleeping Potion.

"Are you alright?" Oliver said, half-amused, half-concerned.

He laid the baby in the cot. Then, taking hold of Harry's arm, he led him over to the bed until they both fell onto the luxuriously soft mattress, with Harry pinning Oliver down by his wrists.

"I've missed being like this with you..." Harry whispered.

"It's only been a couple of days, if that," Oliver chortled. "What's made you so desperate to make love?"

"I would have been able to wait were it not for Neville and Luna...well..."

"Yeah... Look, sweetheart, we don't have to do this if you don't want to. We can just go to sleep and I can let you mourn the loss of your friends. I don't want you to hurt while we make love..."

"I won't hurt while you're with me, Ollie, I can promise you that. If there's one thing that can never be defeated, it's my love for you. That, and only that, pulls me through my most upsetting times. It's because I love you so much, baby..."

"You're so sweet," Oliver said, his eyes shimmering with happiness in a miniscule ray of moonlight that peered into the room through the closed blinds on the window. "Harry... my precious, sweet Harry... we got Bonded for a reason, and that reason stands stronger than ever to this day. These rings," Oliver lifted his ring finger, showing the gold, animated-Snitch, engraved band that hugged his finger as a monument to the love he shared with Harry, "are the very things that hold us together, and our souls being linked to one another certainly helps. Harry... I know this might come as quite a strange suggestion, but I think I want to take our Bonding one step further..."

"What do you mean?" Harry said, intrigued.

"Well, you know how a Bonding links the souls of two men or women together? There's an extra step that we can take. The _final_ step to be taken..."

"And what's that?"

"It's called Consummation, and not like the sort of consummation we had on our honeymoon..."

"Sounds interesting," Harry said, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "Carry on."

"It makes the Bonding permanent. Basically, we take a part of each other's soul into our being and, essentially, we become one with the other. If you feel upset, I feel upset with you. If you're in danger, I'll know faster than anyone else ever could. There's also a catch in that it takes five years before each soul is ready for Consummation, and they can only start being prepared when the partners see a Bonding specialist at the Ministry. Of course, the Consummation can be cancelled during the five-year wait, or it can even be postponed once the five-year wait is actually over. Gives people the chance to really make sure that it's what they want, you see? So, once we do this, _if_ we do this, there's no turning back. I hope you realise that..."

"Ollie..." Harry said, smiling in a sad but reassuring way.

"You don't want to? It's fine, I completely understand. We might be completely crazy about each other, but making the Bonding permanent is a monumental step. No other couple in history has gone so far as to fully consummate their Bonding."

"I... I want to make this permanent. I want to be with you forever. Ollie... I've never felt so attached to someone in all my life," Harry's eyes were streaming with happy tears as he slowly lifted his and Oliver's shirts from their bodies. "You're my first love, and you're the only one I've ever wanted, currently want, or ever will want. We belong to each other, and by taking this final step, I'm promising you that nothing will ever break what we have between us. I love you so much that my chest might explode, but you deserve every bit of affection I can give you. Baby... let's get Consummated!"

"Really?! Harry, I'm so happy!" Oliver exclaimed, grasping the back of Harry's head and pulling him into a crushing kiss. "You amazing man! We'll see the official at the Ministry as soon as we can. Then all we'll have to do is wait for five years before we can finally be as close to one another as possible!"

"I always knew that we'd be together forever, Ollie, but not once did I imagine that I'd be able to give so much of myself to you..."

"I know," Oliver smiled warmly. "I feel the exact same way, sweetheart."

The air was suddenly filled with the crackling of sexual electricity as Harry and Oliver gazed down upon each other, tears streaming down their cheeks in joy.

Harry leaned down until his nose was mere inches away from Oliver, and together they muttered, "I love you..."

Bridging the gap that had been open for far too long, Harry and Oliver pressed their lips together to share each other's incalculable love.

As Oliver nipped on his lower lip, Harry gasped his approval and instantly opened his mouth to allow entry to the moist, wriggling muscle confined within Oliver, engaging it in a rather fierce battle for supremacy.

This was new, Harry thought to himself; it was a taste unlike anything he had ever experienced from Oliver, so he was quick to inquire its origin.

"Ollie?" Harry tried to mutter, but his mouth was covered by Oliver's, the sound instead coming out as a garble. He tried again, and this time Oliver pulled away to let him speak. "Ollie, where did your new taste come from? A new toothpaste or something?"

"Yeah," Oliver said. "Strawberry-flavoured so that kissing tastes a lot better for you."

"But I liked the way you tasted anyway..." said Harry. "Okay then, I'll find a grape-flavoured toothpaste to make it taste better for you!"

"But you already taste like apples," Oliver put on a fake pout. "I prefer apples to grapes."

"Oh alright, you win," Harry laughed. "I guess I can just get used to your new strawberry taste. It's not a bad taste, anyway..."

Oliver smirked at Harry, and Harry brought his mouth back down onto Oliver's to deliver another sweet kiss, finally being aware of the subtle pulsing in his trousers and pants, which he immediately removed with such speed that it almost gave the end of his naked cock a carpet burn.

"Time to get you naked, hot stuff," Harry smirked mischievously.

Aided by his husband's helpful hands, Harry unbuckled Oliver's stubborn belt. He practically tore both the trousers and underlying pants away from Oliver's legs in his hunger.

"Wow... you're so breathtaking when you're naked..."

"Look who's talking," Oliver lightly stroked a finger down Harry's cheek, pushing his hips up until their cocks grinded together.

"Ngh..." Harry grunted. "Feels good..."

"Remember, sweetheart. We're doing whatever you want tonight..." Oliver winked. "What will it be?"

"Well..." Harry began, hardly daring to say what he was thinking. "When Professor McGonagall was taking me to meet you for the first time, all she said was 'Wood'..."

"What are you getting at, Harry? Do I sense the kinky side of you coming out again?"

"Before I saw you, I thought that you were a wooden stick that she was going to beat me with..."

"I knew it!" Oliver rolled around beneath Harry in fits of laughter. "You want me to _actually_ be the wooden stick, don't you? Does Harry want Oliver to _spank_ him?"

"Shut up," Harry said playfully. "I've fantasised about you spanking me for ages, but I couldn't find the right time to bring it up. But since I can have whatever I want done to me, I think now is as good a time as any..."

"Yes... I suppose it is..."

The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the room, and Harry's butt cheek burned as Oliver's splayed hand slapped him thrice.

"How was that?"

"I think I've just discovered a new turn-on..." Harry gasped, taking a hold of Oliver's hand and keeping it in place on his searing rear. "Keep doing it..."

"You mean this?"

Oliver repeated the harsh smack, and Harry hissed as his skin stung.

"_Exactly_ that..."

Harry and Oliver clamped their mouths together so fiercely that it was a miracle their lips didn't tear away when they broke the kiss.

"I need to taste you some more..." Harry muttered huskily, scraping his teeth across Oliver's earlobe. "Let's see if your cum tastes any different to what I'm used to..."

Shuffling down Oliver's torso, savouring the gentle tingles he was getting from both his angry arse cheek and the friction between his and Oliver's cocks, Harry rained fiery kisses upon the toned abs and pecs that never failed to drive him crazy.

When at last his mouth was almost touching Oliver's beautiful, twitching dick, Harry was suddenly aware of a ferocious hunger that he had never felt before, and he wasted no time in teasing the man he loved oh-so-much.

"Dinner time..."

Like a ghost in the night, Harry's breath erupted in the form of a cloud. It must have had some effect on Oliver, for he groaned very quietly and he shivered in a way that begged for more.

Harry licked up the sensitive underside of Oliver's shaft, then blew along the moist trail he had created, and as he reached the swollen, mushroom-shaped head, he opened his mouth. He encircled his lips around the pulsing tip, one hand stroking Oliver's torso sensually and the other gently tugging at Oliver's neglected sack, then flicked at the slit with the tip of his tongue before taking a dive, engulfing the entire appendage with a split second's notice and causing Oliver to buck unexpectedly into Harry's mouth.

"Harry..." Oliver moaned, sweeping his hands through Harry's wild, black mane of hair. "You're a pro at this..."

"I aim to please," Harry mumbled around Oliver's throbbing length, lapping at the river of precum that flowed freely across his tongue.

He quickened his pace, bobbing faster and faster with each passing second until his head started to be squeezed, somewhat painfully, and Oliver's legs started to curl up.

Realising that a path into his writhing husband had finally been revealed, Harry ceased his stimulation of Oliver's scrotum and prodded slightly at the bare pink hole.

Having completely forgotten about his minor freehand abilities, Harry thought, "_Lubrico!_", to himself and spread the conjured substance along Oliver's entrance.

"Ah! That's cold. Guess I know who's on top tonight, then."

"You bet, baby. I'm going to make love to you nice and slow. First finger in..."

Harry applied pressure and felt the ring of muscle relax, then tighten as the first finger slid inside.

"Harry... Mmmm..."

Twirling his finger, slowly at first, and feeling around inside the man he would do anything for, Harry savoured the many low groans that flowed seamlessly through the air, and when he brushed against a small bulb, he knew he had hit the spot that could make Oliver melt beneath him, and the same spot that had the exact effect on himself when Oliver made love to him.

Hearing Oliver's desperate pleas for greater penetration, Harry lined up a second finger and slid it inside until both of the digits could be flexed comfortably.

"Yeah... Like that..."

The gentle pulling and constricting of the muscles in Oliver's arse around his fingers made Harry become aware that, while he was paying much attention to Oliver's needs, he had neglected himself, and he now throbbed painfully against the mattress with an urgency to gratify himself.

He wanted so badly to rub himself sore, anything for release, and it took all of his willpower to carry on preparing Oliver without touching his own pulsating shaft or leaking tip.

After another minute or so, Harry couldn't resist his overwhelming desire to be inside Oliver anymore.

"Ollie..." Harry whispered, pulling himself up the older man's torso until their faces were level. "I love you so much..."

"I love you too, sweetheart," Oliver said, barely audible.

He took a hold of Harry's hand and placed it on his chest, just above his heart.

"You'll always be here..."

Harry gazed lovingly at Oliver. Oliver gazed back.

As one, they pressed their lips together, Oliver draping his muscular arms around Harry's neck and locking his strong legs around Harry's waist.

"Sweetheart... push..."

Harry, burning with desire and hunger, gave a sharp jerk forward, feeling the head of his dick slide inside Oliver with incredible ease, and when he felt the velvety walls of Oliver's arse hugging him, he knew he was home.

"Harry!" Oliver moaned, letting his hands roam freely across Harry's back. "I love you..."

"I love you too, baby..." Harry grunted in pleasure.

It seemed that Oliver had trained himself to be able to pleasure Harry even while he was being made love to; with each thrust of Harry's dick into his prostate, he squeezed the muscles in his arse with an exquisite intensity, and the results were very much as he had hoped.

Harry's moaning increased in volume with each thrust, for the constricting around his throbbing cock became tighter and tighter as he and Oliver waltzed together in a romantic symphony on the bed.

The many ridges and crevices along Oliver's tender insides did much to stimulate Harry right to the very edges of orgasm, but could tell that Oliver wasn't as close to reaching his moment of climax, so he slowed his pace down.

"Harry... You're such a good lover..."

"I love to love you..." Harry said gently, claiming Oliver's lips for a magical kiss. "My special man, what would I do without you?"

"For one thing- Ngh... For one thing you'd be in a relationship with your hand instead of me..."

"You always know how to make me- ohhhh... make me smile," Harry laughed, half-blinded from the sensations raging around his body. "I'm so glad that we're promising to be each other's forever..."

"So am- Harry! Oh my... So am I!"

The last syllable seemed to last for hours as Oliver was momentarily crippled by an unexpected surge throughout his body, and Harry noticed that the friction between his and Oliver's torsos was no longer there, instead replaced by a slippery, stickiness.

Yet Oliver had not achieved an orgasm, and the bright blush across his cheeks and misty glaze in his eyes told the story of a man at war with his body, trying to make the special moment with his husband last as long as possible.

"Ollie... Let's come together, like always..."

"I love you..." Oliver grunted.

"I love you too."

Spine tingling and scrotum tightening, Harry understood that his body was at last starting to let go of the aching desire it had been withholding for so long, and when he saw Oliver's eyes roll up into the back of his head, a low growling sound erupting from the older man's throat, it became clear to him that their time of orgasm had arrived.

"Ollie, I'm coming!" Harry gasped into Oliver's neck.

"Me too!" Oliver cried.

They screamed together, Oliver's arse constricting so tightly that it almost cut off Harry's circulation, Harry's dick thrusting and pulsing relentlessly into Oliver's prostate, and waves of paroxysmal pleasure rumbled through them like an earthquake shattering the fault lines of two countries, merging them into one.

A tsunami of sticky gloop spouted from Oliver's length, applying a thick layer of pearl-white paint to both his and Harry's bodies, while Harry exploded like a milk cannon inside him, feeding his arse with as much cum as possible until they collapsed together, breathing heavily and gulping down breaths deeper than ever before, for neither of them had felt more special to the other than they did now, and sweet nothings flowed like water from their tongues as they kissed passionately, revelling in their lovemaking's undeniable and overwhelming glory.

At breakfast the next morning, despite having woken up feeling extremely tired and sticky, Harry and Oliver were more cheerful and loving towards each other than ever before, and it was a wonder that the bacon managed to get cooked due to their constant stealing of kisses from one another.

James Sirius, now able to sit up properly, sat in his high chair, smiling at his mother and father as they showed their unmatchable affection.

"There's my little James!" Oliver said cheerily, picking the baby up and spinning round with him. "Mummy loves you, you know that?"

"Someone certainly seems happy today!" Harry said, smiling. "Last night was amazing, baby..."

"It always is," Oliver said, putting James Sirius back into the high chair and grabbing a jar of baby food from the cupboard. "I'm thinking about trying James Sirius on proper food now."

"I was just thinking that actually," Harry agreed, laying down two plates of bacon on the kitchen table. "He's getting a little old to be bottle-fed."

Oliver just nodded.

He popped the lid off the jar and Summoned a baby spoon from the drawer, then scooped out a small amount of food (apple, pear and banana delight). "Open wide, little James; Mummy's got some tasty food for you! Yum, yum!"

James Sirius giggled at Oliver in a way that made Harry's heart flutter with happiness.

Harry watched as Oliver fed James Sirius, whose tongue kept protruding each time food went into his mouth, pushing the remnants of the greenish paste past his lips, but Oliver simply scraped it gently from his chin and gave it back to him. It was clear that James Sirius was enjoying his first real mealtime, for his eyes lit up the moment the fruity paste touched his tongue, and by the time the jar was empty, he was looking around confusedly, in wonderment as to where the rest of his meal had gone.

"I think he enjoyed that," Harry grinned, taking the empty jar from Oliver, who made a start on his breakfast. "You can have some more in a few hours, son. Let's get you a little bit of water to wash that down."

Whilst Harry was stood at the sink, putting a few ounces of water into a bottle, Zeus came soaring in through the open, sun-streaked window carrying a few letters and a bundle of coins in a small woven bag. He flew over to the table, his claws scratching the wooden surface, and dropped the delivery in front of Oliver, who fed him the bacon that he had no appetite for.

"Are you feeling alright, baby?" Harry said concernedly. "You usually love bacon."

"I just don't feel hungry anymore, that's all," Oliver said, batting the question away with his hand. "What's the plan for today, then?"

"No idea. I suppose we could visit your grandmother. We haven't seen her since the Bonding and I'm sure she'll want to see her great grandson."

"How could I forget about her?" Oliver said loudly, letting his head fall onto the table. "She's going to kill me..."

"Don't worry about it," Harry assured him, stroking him lightly on the back. "When she sees James Sirius, she'll probably forget about it. Besides, all we have to do is tell her just how busy we've been, what with Blue Swan and everything..."

"I suppose," Oliver said unsurely, tearing the first envelope open. "Just another bill."

"So are all of these," Harry said, fanning around a few more envelopes that looked exactly the same as the first. "But this one doesn't have any writing on it."

He picked up a black, blank envelope and opened, his eyes instantly setting ablaze when his heart gave a very painful pang of guilt. He pulled out the solemn-looking slip of paper with great discomfort, knowing what the two crosses at the top symbolised and hurting even more when an image of a toad and a Thestral came into view. It looked very formal, as though sent from a funeral home. Surely the funeral couldn't have been arranged _that_ quickly.

_Harry and Oliver Potter-Wood  
The following date, time and place has been arranged to celebrate the life and mourn the passing of Mr Neville Longbottom and Miss Luna Lovegood. Please RSVP Augusta Longbottom and Xenophilius Lovegood as soon as possible with your acceptance/declination of your invitation.  
Friday 17__th__ July, 10am, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
Yours faithfully,  
Fawcett & Hetherington  
Funeral care providers since 1746_

"Oh Harry..." Oliver said sadly, pulling the crumbling man into his arms. "You poor thing, come here. Look at it this way; at least you'll be able to say goodbye to Neville and Luna."

"I know but..." Harry sniffed. "It's going to be so difficult until then..."

"Look at me, sweetheart. You have me if ever you need someone to talk to, you know that right? I'm always here for you, okay? I love you."

"I love you too, Ollie..." Harry sighed dreamily, letting the tears flow down his cheeks. "But it hurts, it really hurts."

"I know," Oliver placed a gentle kiss to Harry's forehead. "But it'll get better soon, I promise. It always does."

Friday the seventeenth came far too quickly, and Harry didn't feel as though he had much time to prepare for the emotional day ahead on the gloomy morning.

"We'll get through today, Harry, I promise," Oliver assured him, giving him a comforting hug. "I don't know how, but we'll get through."

"I love you, Ollie. Please, don't leave my side today?"

"I had no intention of doing that, sweetheart, not when you need as much attention as you can get. I love you too much to see you hurt."

After a quick, silent breakfast of toast and jam, Harry and Oliver made their way up to Hogwarts through the misty morning and sodden ground. It seemed that the weather was mourning Neville and Luna's loss just as much as everyone else, and a light drizzle began to fall as Harry and Oliver stepped through the double doors into the Entrance Hall.

Neville and Luna would be buried on the lakeshore, and as Harry left the rain behind, he saw a small collection of chairs in a circle next to a single, deeply-dug grave. His eyes began to burn once more when he realised that they would be buried on top of each other.

"Together forever..." he mumbled to himself.

"What was that, sweetheart?"

"What? Oh, nothing..."

"Come on," Oliver said gently, pulling Harry close to his side. "The ceremony's going to be starting soon."

A sea of round tables, adorned with red-and-gold and blue-and-bronze silk, met Harry's eyes as he and Oliver walked into the Great Hall, and when he saw the similarly-coloured coffins at the very front, his emotions burst their banks. All heads turned in his direction, for he failed to realise just how late he and Oliver were.

Sobbing quietly, making sure he was as close to Oliver as possible, Harry found a chair at the far back away from the eyes of the other attendants, and he felt somewhat comforted when Hermione joined him, wearing a black dress.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" she asked.

"As good as someone _can_ feel in a situation like this..."

"It shouldn't be long now before we can say our final goodbyes. The officiant has just finished reading out their eulogies. What took you so long, anyway? Mrs Longbottom isn't happy that you turned up late..."

"He broke down," Oliver said lowly. "It was only when I held him for a while that he managed to calm down."

"Where is James Sirius?"

"My parents are looking after him. He can sit up on his own now, you know?"

"That's great news," Hermione smiled warmly, taking Harry's hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. "I think we're about to move outside..."

Sure enough, there was a scraping of chairs as the congregation stood up in a sort of heart-wrenching chorus.

With a wave of the officiant's wand, the two coffins rose into the air and drifted along behind the mourners like ghosts.

The walk down to the Black Lake seemed more like a trek than anything else, and Harry found it hard to collect his emotions as it was, so when he saw a lonely-looking toad hopping beside them it took all his might not to break down for the second time that morning.

At last they reached the chairs and sat down, most of the congregation staring blankly ahead as the coffins hovered above the graves.

In his seat at the far back, Harry's hair and neck were flecked with rain, which grew steadily heavier as time progressed. Oliver remained by his side as the officiant started the service.

"We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of Mr Neville Longbottom and Miss Luna Lovegood, both of whom were cruelly taken from this world, their friends, their family.  
"It is with great sadness that their loved ones should have to attend such a mournful event as this, when I, along with many of you I'm sure know that they would have preferred for their positions to reversed. A parent should not have to outlive their children, and we hope that the perpetrator behind these monstrous crimes is brought to justice.  
"Professor Dumbledore has agreed to say a few words about Neville and Luna's life at Hogwarts. Professor?"

The kindly old man, who looked alarmingly sad, paced silently up to the podium, wearing purest-black robes that billowed out behind him.

"Neville Longbottom," he began. "Never the brightest student at Hogwarts, he was also one of the kindest and most cheerful young men I and my colleagues have ever had the good fortune to come across. He showed true strength in his most stressful times and held a fierce determination to succeed.  
"He excelled at Herbology, his favourite subject, and he had previously asked me if he could apply to train to be a teacher at the school. I told him that he would be able to apply for the position at the end of this month, but it seems that he was taken away from the world before he had a chance to build a good life for himself."

The air around the congregation remained silent, apart from the quiet sobbing of Mrs Longbottom and Xenophilius Lovegood.

"Luna Lovegood," Dumbledore continued. "Such a bright and interesting young girl, I had planned on having Neville reveal to her my most-kept secret on the day of her graduation. Hidden within the Forbidden Forest is a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, which I have affectionately named 'Luna'. I'd just like to take this opportunity now to offer Mr Lovegood the amazing creature as a reminder of all that Luna stood for. She never gave up on her beliefs and it was her uniqueness that made her stand out from her oppressors. For that, I salute her and bid her good luck in the afterlife that awaits her.  
"Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood, you will both be sorely missed. Rest in peace."

Harry couldn't take it anymore. He bolted from his seat, his cheeks streak with hot tears, and ran up the sloping lawns, not heading for Hogwarts but for home itself, and Oliver was right along behind him.

The last thing he saw before his line of view was consumed by a thicket of trees was the two coffins being lowered into their graves, Mr Lovegood and Mrs Longbottom mourning on their knees beside the heartbreaking sight.

Stopping for a moment to gather himself before making the rest of the way back home, Harry saw the same toad from down near the Lake, and he recognised it as being Trevor, Neville's now ownerless pet. He watched Trevor hop down from the fence he was perched on and followed the toad with his eyes as it aimed itself towards the Black Lake.

Moments later, after the grave had been filled and the mourners had said their last respects, Harry saw Trevor, now a tiny, deep-green speck, hop onto Neville's grave; the final time that Neville would lose and find his pet.

"Let's get you home..."

Harry let himself fall into Oliver's arms as they made their way back to the cottage in silence, allowing the misery of the morning to hang over them like a suffocating fog.


	11. Moving on in Life

**Chapter Eleven – Moving on in Life**

"Are you sure you're okay?" Oliver asked concernedly that night in bed.

Ever since getting back from the joint funeral, Harry did almost nothing but cry into Oliver's chest, shoulder and even his legs. Oliver wasn't complaining, though; he hated seeing Harry depressed as he was, so he did all he could to try and soothe him.

By nine o'clock, however, he had accepted the fact that his beloved husband was inconsolable, and the best he could do was simply hold him until his tears finally dried when they were in bed.

"I-I'm fine," Harry sniffed. "Honest."

"I'm still going to hold you until you fall asleep, you know that don't you?"

"I'd expect nothing less. I love you, Ollie."

"I love you too," Oliver said, stroking Harry's back in a soothing manner. "Time to get to sleep; it's been a long day. Goodnight, my love."

"Goodnight, baby..."

"Ollie, what do you want for breakfast?" Harry called from the kitchen as Oliver played with James Sirius.

It had been two weeks since Neville and Luna's funeral, and Harry's grief had died down somewhat, although there were times when he would silently sob to himself which, unbeknownst to him, Oliver could hear.

The end of July also signalled the end of the school term, and Harry's school life was now officially over. The start of August meant that applications to join the teaching staff were being accepted and reviewed, and Harry was rather looking forward to applying for a training position in the Defence Against the Dark Arts department.

"I have no idea, actually," Oliver called back, James Sirius giggling madly when Oliver shook a rattle in front of his face.

"Toast?"

"No, I don't feel like toast today.

"Cornflakes?"

"Yuck. I've gone off them. Come and play with James and I'll take a look in the kitchen for something to eat."

Harry and Oliver swapped places, and soon it was Harry entertaining the baby while Oliver looked for something to eat.

"By the way, Ollie, I'll be heading up to Hogwarts to apply for the Defence Against the Dark Arts trainee teacher position later today."

"I have every faith that you'll-" Harry heard Oliver begin, but the sound was drowned out by clattering dishes.

"Oliver!" Harry said in a panic, and he carried James Sirius into the kitchen to see what the commotion was about.

Oliver was sprawled on the floor, pointing at a puddle of water where his feet were before he fell.

"Are you alright?" Harry said worriedly, using his free hand to pull Oliver up from the floor.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Oliver said, dusting himself off. "Just a slip, that's all."

"You're not hurt or anything?"

"Sweetheart, everything's okay," Oliver said comfortingly, placing a gentle kiss to Harry's lips. "Now, back to finding something else to eat..."

For the next few hours, Harry kept a close eye on Oliver, and it was only when Oliver eventually told him to stop that he realised everything really was fine.

"I just want to make sure that you aren't hurt," Harry said sadly while he rested his head on Oliver's lap.

They were sat together on the sofa as James Sirius took his afternoon nap in his cot upstairs.

"I promise you that I'm perfectly fine, Harry," Oliver repeated for what felt like the tenth time, twirling Harry's hair mindlessly in his fingers. "Please, stop worrying about me and think more of your application to be a Defence Against the Dark Arts trainee, which you're actually running late for. You've got twenty minutes before they start interviewing applicants; better hurry up."

"I've already got my application form filled out," Harry said flatly. "All I need to do is prepare for the interview and then I'm raring to go."

"Well you'd better get going soon," Oliver said warningly. "I don't want you to be late. Besides, I've got housework to do. Speaking of housework, have you seen Dobby lately?"

"Come to think of it, no..." Harry said. "Dobby?"

There was a crack and a flash of light, and the form of Dobby in his red tea cosy appeared in the middle of the living room.

"Masters called?" Dobby said happily.

"Where have you been? We haven't seen you around for ages!"

"Dobby is dreadfully sorry, sir. Every four years, the House-Elf Olympics are held and Dobby loves to go and watch them. It's the only time in our lives when we can leave our masters without permission. Of course, we must return to them after the games are over."

"Why didn't you tell us you were going to the games?" Oliver said, showing the motherly concern Harry had seen him display when James Sirius was in the equation. "We aren't bothered that you went, but you could have at least told us so we wouldn't be worried."

"Dobby apologises gravely, sir. Is there anything masters require of Dobby?"

"No, it's okay," Harry said. "You can go back to the House-Elf Olympics."

And before the House-Elf could Disapparate, Harry added, "Oh, and we order you to enjoy yourself. Also, ignore any summonses from us until the games are over. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir!" Dobby squeaked, and he Disapparated with another crack.

"Right you," Oliver said, prodding Harry lightly in the chest. "Get your beautiful arse off to Hogwarts and hand in your application. I've got housework to do."

"But, but, but..." Harry put on a fake pout, drawing himself closer to Oliver.

"No 'buts', mister. Shoo!"

Harry stole a cheeky kiss from Oliver and got up from the sofa, picking up an envelope, which contained his application form, off the coffee table.

"Wish me luck!"

"Good luck! One quick kiss before you go, though," Oliver smirked, and he embraced Harry in a fiery kiss that flared passion about the room.

It was another moment before they broke apart, but when they did, they were both heavily flushed.

"I could do this all day..." Harry muttered, gazing closely into Oliver's eyes. "I love you..."

"I love you too, sweetheart. Now get going!"

Harry huffed and pulled himself away from Oliver. "Be back in a few hours, love," he said, and made his way out of the cottage.

Being inside Hogwarts during the summer was an alien experience for Harry, whose time in the school extended only to Christmas for holidays. The rest of the holidays were generally spent in the company of the Weasley family, who he guessed would most likely show no interest in him anymore.

He made his way down the strangely familiar corridors, now completely barren with no signs of life anywhere, and when he was faced with the griffin stairwell leading to Dumbledore's office, he realised that his old mentor could soon become his boss.

Taking the first step, a deep breath along with it, Harry jumped slightly when the great, bronze bird bumped into life.

His mind whirred with possibilities of life for him and his family if he managed to become a teacher; more money, a greater sense of achievement, and not to mention somewhere for James Sirius to grow up around both the magical and non-magical communities.

The staircase came to a shuddering halt and Harry stepped off, then knocked on the old oak door leading into Dumbledore's office.

"Come in," Harry heard the elderly wizard say.

He opened the door to see only two other people in the room; one that he made him feel rather elated, and another that made him bubble with rage.

"Ah, Harry!" Dumbledore said gladly. "I had a feeling you'd come!"

"Yes, sir," Harry said out of force-of-habit. "Rebekah, I didn't expect you to be here!"

"Hi, Harry!" she said happily. "I got tired of being an Auror and decided that what I most wanted to do was teach, so here I am!"

"It's so good to see you again after all this time! How's life been for you?"

"Eventful, let's just say that. I tried becoming friends with Bridgett, but that didn't quite follow through as I'd originally intended," she said, looking rather disappointed.

"Are you going to keep trying?"

"Nah, I don't think so. It seems a little bit like a lost cause, if I'm honest; I can't really see anything that we have in common to really become friends..."

"And what are _you_ doing here?" Harry spat at the other person.

"Hello to you too, Harry," the redhead said wryly. "Is that any way to talk to your best friend?"

"_Former_ best friend," Harry growled. "Professor, what's this vile entity doing out of Azkaban?! Shouldn't he be on trial?!"

"Harry please, call me Albus," Dumbledore said calmly. "As unsavoury as the current situation might be, Ron has been let out of Azkaban because his parents have paid bail for him."

"His parents can't even afford a new pet; how can they have possibly paid bail?" Harry thought darkly to himself.

"And a trial?" he said aloud. "What about the attempted murder of not just my best friend, but my son as well."

"You mean your freak of a son who doesn't have a proper mother?" Ron mumbled.

Harry lost it. Whipping out his wand and jutting it harshly in Ron's direction, he shouted, not caring about the volume of his voice, "TALK ABOUT MY SON LIKE THAT AGAIN AND YOU'LL GET FAR MORE THAN- _STUPEFY!_"

A bolt of red light filled the miniscule gap between the tip of Harry's wand and Ron's chest. The spell hit Ron squarely and he was thrown backwards, slamming violently into the wall.

"Mr Weasley, further comments such as that will ruin your chances of working as a caretaker at this school," Dumbledore said seriously. "I do not appreciate my members of staff insulting others, particularly children. Now, I suggest that you go back to your room in Hogsmeade before any more outbursts lead to serious injury."

"It's going to take a hell of a lot to get me put in Azkaban," Ron muttered in Harry's ear as he made for the door. "With Percy working for the Ministry, I'll be out in no time. And when I do get out, you'll be seeing a lot more of me..."

"Don't think I won't defend myself if I need to. I'm quite handy at fighting, perhaps you remember..."

Ron said nothing. He paced out of the room with the grace of a troll and slammed the door.

"So, would I be correct in saying that you both wish to be Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers?" Dumbledore said, apparently ignorant of what had just happened. "Your past experiences certainly say that you both have the aptitude for the position, but do you meet the requirements to be accepted onto our training course? We'll start with you, Rebekah. Can I see your application, please?"

Rebekah handed him an envelope that looked to be filled to the brim with papers and documents.

He slit it open and started rifling through the contents, his expression becoming more interested with each passing minute, and for a minute Harry worried that he wouldn't get the training position because of the sheer size of Rebekah's application.

"Very well, Miss Kelly," Dumbledore nodded, opening a drawer on his desk and putting the documents inside. "I'll be in contact with you shortly."

"Thank you, Albus," Rebekah smiled, and she left the room.

"Now Harry," Dumbledore said, rounding on Harry. "I know that you'd make a wonderful teacher, but we must go through all the appropriate steps in order to make sure that the application process is fair for everyone. Can I see your application, please?"

Harry passed over the envelope, which he noted was significantly thinner than Rebekah's.

"There isn't really that much in here, is there?" Dumbledore mumbled. "Your grades are all excellent, many of them at Outstanding level. You make a good candidate with these NEWT results alone, Harry. Your experience, of course, is letting you down due to you having only just graduated, but other than that I'd be more than willing to accept you onto a training course right now. As I said before, however, things must be done correctly and fairly, so when the final closing date for applications has arrived I will be in contact with you through owl to give you more details. I think I can safely say that we're done here."

"That fast?" Harry said in a surprised voice. "I expected it to take longer..."

"No, my dear boy," Dumbledore chuckled. "The longest part of the application process is Interview Day. You'll be in the castle for at least five hours on that day, so you may wish to bring some food with you. I shouldn't have said that; I sound biased," he added with a sneaky wink.

"Thank you, Prof- er, Albus," Harry grinned. "I'll see you then, or not..."

"Good day to you, Harry."

"Ollie?" Harry shouted from the hallway. "I'm back!"

There was no answer. It didn't come as a surprise to Harry, though; the vacuum cleaner could be heard bussing upstairs.

Deciding to surprise Oliver, Harry crept up the stairs as quietly as he could, and he chanced a glance over the banister to see Oliver bent over in the bedroom, trying to vacuum a stubborn corner.

As Harry ran up the rest of the stairs, however, the vacuum cleaner was shut off.

"Surprise!" he bellowed, causing Oliver to jump in fright as he charged directly into the bedroom, crashing into his side and toppling onto the bed.

"You're back early!" Oliver said happily, squirming as he was being relentlessly tickled.

"It turns out that today was just handing in our applications," Harry explained simply, and he allowed himself to steal a kiss from Oliver. "Hello, soft lips. When did you suddenly start feeling so _smooth_?"

"Someone's in a good mood," Oliver grinned. "Listen, we need to talk about something. It might improve your mood, but it might not."

"Okay, what is it?" Harry said, still beaming.

"You might want to get off me..." Oliver gestured with his hand for Harry to sit next to him.

"What is that you want to talk about?" Harry asked.

"I have some news, but I don't know if it's good or bad..."

"Baby, what is it? Come on now, you're starting to scare me," Harry gave Oliver a pleading look, taking a hold of his hand.

"You don't need to give me that look," Oliver chuckled. "It's nothing like that."

"Then what is it that you're keeping a secret from me? Come on, tell me! I don't like it when things are kept from me."

"You want to know?" Oliver grinned.

"Yes, I do want to know," Harry said, pulling himself closer to Oliver.

"Alright, I'll tell you," Oliver said, taking his hand away from Harry's and placing them safely on his lap. He took in a deep breath and gave Harry a long stare. Then, as though the words were lighting up the whole world, "You're going to be a daddy again!"


	12. Milestone Mayhem

**Chapter Twelve – Milestone Mayhem**

Harry sat completely still in front of Oliver, too shocked for words.

"Harry? Come on sweetheart, say something."

"You-You're pregnant?"

"Yeah," Oliver said, showing signs of worry on his inhumanly handsome face. "That's not a bad thing, is it? You aren't disappointed?"

"Of course it's not a bad thing!" Harry said brightly. "And of course I'm not disappointed! I love you so much, Ollie!"

Harry leaned forward and caught Oliver as they fell backwards together on the bed, their lips entangled. Harry's tongue delved around Oliver's mouth, feeling every smooth texture and crevice he could find, noting that Oliver was keeping his own tongue stationary. Harry broke the kiss.

"I love you too, sweetheart," Oliver said, giving Harry a small kiss on the lips. "You're not upset that I'm having a baby before we planned?"

"Why should I be? A child is a child, that's all there is to it," Harry gave Oliver a warm smile full of love, and he wrapped their hands together. "It was my mistake for not using the Sterilisation Spell, in the first place. And you know what? I don't regret a single thing, because having another baby with you just made my life a whole lot better."

"You really mean it?"

"Of course I mean it! I love you and James Sirius to death, and I'm going to love this new baby to death as well!"

"You're amazing. You really, really are amazing," Oliver muttered, pulling Harry back down onto his body and sealing their mouths together. "My Harry... the man of my dreams... words just can't describe how much I love you."

"Don't use words," Harry whispered, dangling his lips an inch above Oliver's. "Use your body..."

"I... I don't feel like having full-on sex," Oliver said glumly.

"Hey, it's fine, Ollie. We don't _need_ to make love; we do it because we want to, and if you don't want to make love right now, I'm not going to force you into it. Although, I might try to persuade you to snuggle with me, at least," he added with a wink.

"I think I can do that for you," Oliver smiled, and he brought their lips together again.

The only movements their bodies made were that of their heads and mouths as they kissed gently, not even using their tongue. Harry and Oliver held each other, their arms in unchanging positions as they nuzzled alternately into the other's neck.

"I love you," Harry said quietly, pressing his nose into the crook of Oliver's neck.

"I love you too," Oliver replied, kissing Harry's cheek tenderly. "Did Dumbledore say when the interviews were going to be held?"

"No. All he said was that he was going to be in touch with me on the closing date for applications. Speaking of applications, guess who I saw in Dumbledore's office when I went to apply."

"No idea, who?"

"Rebekah. She said that she was tired of being an Auror so she decided to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts instead. I also saw someone I really wish I hadn't."

"Who was that? Anyone we know or someone who made your skin crawl?"

"Both," Harry said plainly. "_Ron_ was there. Apparently, Dumbledore's going to give him the position of caretaker at the school if he doesn't get sent to Azkaban."

"He's got very little chance of avoiding a sentence, I'm telling you now," Oliver said. "He was caught red-handed trying to murder Hermione and..." it seemed that the last two words caused bile to rise up his throat, but he forced each word out in order to emphasise both his hatred of Ron and his confidence in the fact that a term in Azkaban was inevitable, "James Sirius."

"I'm quite worried," Harry continued. "He said that Percy could easily get him out of prison and he also said that when he does, we'll be seeing a lot more of him."

"What's he doing out of Azkaban before his trial, anyway?" Oliver said suddenly, realising that Ron wasn't in the place he deserved to be.

"According to Dumbledore, Mr and Mrs Weasley have paid bail for him."

"Where the hell did they get _that_ kind of money?!" Oliver said in astonishment. "They don't have a penny to scratch their arses with!"

"Beats me," Harry said. "But I intend to find out before he gets his hands on the caretaking position at Hogwarts. Mark my words, I'm not going to have him around my students."

"You seem quite confident," Oliver laughed. "I guess everything went well?"

"As good as it can go when the person you go to is your old mentor," Harry said with a mischievous smirk.

"You realise that Dumbledore won't be biased when he's doing the interviews, right?"

"Yeah, I know that. I can always hope..."

"You don't need to hope; you've got the qualifications needed and you certainly have the experience that most of the other applicants won't have. Sweetheart, you're perfect for the job," Oliver curled himself around Harry and pulled him into a gentle and loving embrace.

"I could lay like this forever," Harry muttered, smiling through the kiss he had been given by Oliver.

From downstairs came the high-pitched cries of James Sirius.

"Hold that thought," Oliver grunted as he lifted himself off the bed. "Sounds like James Sirius is awake."

"It's alright. I'll feed him," Harry said, climbing off the bed himself and placing his hands on Oliver's shoulders. "I think... you should lay down."

"Alright," Oliver conceded, pressing his lips to Harry's again. "I love you."

"I love you too, Ollie."

Harry left the room and headed downstairs whilst Oliver climbed back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Sitting at the kitchen table and giving his son his lunch proved to be an enlightening experience for Harry, and as he carefully spooned a small amount of yellowish paste (banana-flavoured today) into James Sirius' mouth, he thought about what the future would hold for his family.

Oliver's sudden pregnancy didn't faze Harry, just like it hadn't when James Sirius was conceived, but he was still starting to grow a little bit concerned about where the money to afford a new baby would come from; he knew that trainee teachers at Hogwarts weren't paid nearly as much as regular teachers, who in turn were paid far less than heads of departments and heads of house.

It made Harry feel slightly guilty for him to think that Oliver may need to take up a part-time job once the second baby was born in order for them to pay for extra things; if the baby was a girl, they would need to buy a whole new set of clothes and equipment for her. Through his guilt Harry swore to himself that he would do all he could to get the position at Hogwarts; it wouldn't be fair on Oliver to have to help support the family after giving birth to two children, and Harry was determined to make it so that Oliver wouldn't need to work.

At least the cost of living wouldn't increase; the gas and electricity bills in the cottage would be very likely to go down due to the simple fact that they wouldn't be living there during term time; Harry would be designated free living quarters in one of the off-limits towers at Hogwarts which he and his family could move into. Undetectable Extension Charms placed on the living quarters would ensure that the amount of space they had would always be enough to hold their family; with each extra child, if they had any more, an extra room would pop into existence without compromising the integrity of the castle.

"That looks tasty," Harry said playfully as he spooned another bit of food into James Sirius' mouth. "Eat it all up and you'll grow big and strong like Mummy! You're going to be a brother, little James, and Mummy and Daddy are going to need your help to look after your little brother or sister when they get older. Will you help look after them?"

James Sirius simply giggled and gurgled, smiling at Harry widely.

"Look at you, you beautiful little thing. You don't have a single clue what I'm talking about, but that's okay because Daddy loves you!"

"Dada!"

"I must be hearing things," Harry laughed. "I could have sworn you just said 'Dada', but you couldn't have; you're not even a year old."

"Dada! Dada!"

"Wait a minute, you _did _call me Dada! James Sirius, you clever boy! Ollie, get down here quick! James Sirius just said his first word!"

Anybody would have heard Oliver's reaction from a mile away; feet hammered along the floorboards upstairs like a herd of elephants, far more noise than what only one man could make, and the cacophony followed Oliver down the stairs and into the kitchen in his wake.

"First word?!" he shouted with glee. "What did he say? James Sirius, what did you say?"

"Dada!" James Sirius replied cutely.

Oliver squealed in such an intensely-high pitch that it was a miracle Harry's eardrums didn't burst.

"My special little boy! Oh wow, your first word!"

"Dada!"

"There he goes again!" Oliver cried, picking James Sirius up and holding him close in a motherly hug. He placed a kiss to his forehead. "You clever, clever boy! Mummy and Daddy love you so much!"

"Let Daddy hold his son," Harry grinned widely, swelling with a consuming sense of pride and happiness.

Oliver handed Harry the baby, who felt blindly around his face until his bottom lip was being pushed down, revealing the neat line of teeth behind.

"Dada!" James Sirius cheeped.

"I wonder why he's able to speak so early," Oliver said confusedly. "He shouldn't be able to talk for another couple of years yet, at least."

"We can call Winona Jones," Harry suggested.

"Oh yeah, the Midwitch that gave me my first hologram," Oliver remembered. "Zeus!"

Oliver whistled, and after a few minutes the great black owl soared into the kitchen. Taking a piece of parchment off the kitchen counter, he scribbled a quick note down saying:

_We need to see Midwitch Winona Jones as soon as possible.  
Harry and Oliver Potter-Wood_

Oliver attached the note to Zeus' leg and said, "You can have an extra mouse if you make it back within ten minutes."

The owl gave him a look of comprehension and then lifted off, his eyes narrowing as he navigated his way out of the kitchen.

"I'm so proud of you, little James!" Harry said ecstatically. "Say 'Dada'! Say it!"

"Dada!"

"You're such a special little boy!" Oliver smiled, his face streaked with joyous tears. "Mummy and Daddy love you so much!"

A knock at the door just a few moments later told them of the Midwitch's arrival, and Oliver was quick to let her in while James Sirius continued chanting, "Dada! Dada! Dada!"

"Thanks for coming, Midwitch Jones," Oliver greeted the elderly witch.

"It's no problem, no problem at all," Midwitch Jones replied.

She was a very kind old woman who knew how to treat her patients well, but Harry and Oliver knew from experience that she was not one that you'd want to make angry; when she learnt that Madame Pomfrey had given them misleading information about Oliver's pregnancy, her demeanour quickly turned sour, and the Hogwarts Healer evacuated the room with immediate haste.

"Now, what was it you wanted to ask me? I trust James Sirius is doing well?"

"He's doing fantastically," said Harry. "He can sit up on his own now."

"Oh good, good!" the Midwitch said enthusiastically. "It's always nice to hear how previous patients of mine are getting on. Now, the problem?"

"It's not really a problem," Oliver started. "It's more like an inquiry from two very confused parents."

"Okay then, what's on your mind?"

"Dada!" James Sirius squeaked from the kitchen.

"Yes, I'm your Dada!" Harry said jovially.

"Early development, I see?" Midwitch Jones said with much less interest than Oliver expected. "For the first year of life, babies that are born through male pregnancy often develop language and motor skills up to seven times faster than your average child."

"You mean children born through normal pregnancy..." Oliver said bitterly.

"No, no! I didn't mean anything by what I said," Midwitch Jones said quickly. "All I meant was-"

"It's fine; I know what you meant," Oliver muttered. "So you're saying that our James Sirius is developing faster than other babies?"

"Yes," the Midwitch nodded. "The love between the two parents continues to affect the baby for a year after it has been born, although it's somewhat subdued when compared to its development when it is still inside the mother. In other words, the more love you and Harry show to each other around James Sirius, the faster that James Sirius is going to develop his verbal and physical skills. There is a way of still showing your love to each other around the baby without affecting his development, though; love is, after all, an extremely important part of any relationship. I can give you a special potion that will correct the time periods for James Sirius' development, if you wish, but I must warn you that doing so will also roll him backwards; he won't be able to talk."

"I don't want to take his milestone away from him!" Harry shouted from the kitchen. "He's worked hard to get to this stage, even though he's only six months old."

"You're completely right, sweetheart, he _has_ worked hard for it," said Oliver. "Sorry, Midwitch Jones, but we're happy with our son developing just the way he is."

"You two are the most caring and considerate parents I've ever met," the Midwitch beamed at Oliver. "I can see that James Sirius is going to grow up in a home where he'll really feel loved and wanted."

"So will our new baby," Oliver grinned.

"You're having another child?" Midwitch Jones said happily. "So soon?"

"I didn't mean to get pregnant just yet – we were going to wait for James Sirius to start walking – but we forgot to use a Sterilisation Spell a couple of weeks ago."

"In that case, I'd better book you in for a hologram," the Midwitch said, withdrawing a thick diary from her troll skin bag. She flicked to the nearest empty date and pulled out a quill and ink. "The earliest I can book you in for is the sixteenth of August. Is that okay?"

"Well, Harry's applied to be a trainee teacher at Hogwarts and we aren't sure when Professor Dumbledore plans on getting in contact with Harry. We'll find out as soon as we can and send Zeus – our family owl – to you once we know."

"Alright then," the Midwitch said, putting her diary, quill and ink back into her bag. "I look forward to seeing you again. Good luck with James Sirius' development and if you have any troubles with your pregnancy, please don't hesitate to contact me."

"Thank you, Midwitch Jones."

"It was no problem. Before I go, here are some potions for you to take. They'll help the baby attach to the sac inside your stomach, but it might still feel uncomfortable a little bit. Don't forget what happened last time, as well; you might pass out every now-and-then while your body adjusts. "

With that, the Midwitch handed Oliver four phials filled with a purplish liquid and strode down the hallway towards the door, which she threw open, allowing a fresh gust of the warm breeze to aerate the cottage with its summery freshness.

"Did you hear what she said?" Oliver asked Harry when he walked back into the kitchen.

Harry was at the table, James Sirius laid on the surface and giggling madly while Harry tickled him relentlessly.

"Yep," Harry said happily. "We get to watch our son develop without intervention and we have another one on the way. I can't even begin to tell you just how happy I'm feeling right now."

Harry paced over to Oliver with a warm glint in his eyes and pressed their lips together, stroking inside Oliver's shirt in the place where the next baby's bump would appear.

"I love you so much, Ollie," Harry muttered, refusing resolutely to remove his lips and hand from Oliver's mouth and torso.

"I love you too, sweetheart," Oliver whispered, suckling gently on Harry's neck. "Nothing can beat what we have now..."

Harry and Oliver stood there for a few moments kissing while James Sirius sat himself upright on the table and stared at them, his mouth open in a wide smile and occasionally repeating 'Dada'.

"Yes, I'm Dada," Harry chuckled, and he walked back over to the baby to continue his tickling. "This is Mama. Can you say Mama? Ma-ma! Ma... ma."

"Ma... ma... ma... Mama!"

"He's a really fast learner!" Oliver squeaked in excitement. "Come here, little James!"

He ran over to the table and picked the baby up again.

"Who am I?"

"Mama!"

"That's right, I'm Mama!"

Harry couldn't believe just how fast his son was learning, and when he realised that loving Oliver more and more would help James Sirius develop even quicker, he made a mental note to himself to give Oliver as much love as his body could handle. He wasn't too sure about how simple this feat would be, however; Oliver was pregnant, and it also happened to have the effect of making him feel less like making love.

This wouldn't get in the way of their relationship, Harry was sure. He simply wouldn't allow it to. Lovemaking had never been a pivotal point in their relationship, so it wouldn't make any difference now if Oliver suddenly found himself with a very low sex drive.

"This baby isn't going to change anything," Oliver reassured him. "It's not that I don't _want_ to make love, it's that I just don't feel right in myself. The baby's still attaching itself to me in the magical sac, so right now my body isn't up to much. You're okay with that, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm absolutely fine with it," Harry smiled. "It'll only be for a week or so, anyway. You might not feel like making love, but that's not what our relationship is based on. It's based on the love and respect we have for each other, nothing more, nothing less, and there is nothing on this planet that can split us apart. All we're doing by having more children is proving our love to each other and I think that's what's setting our relationship in stone. That, and the fact that we've agreed to Consummate our Bonding. I'm so glad that we'll be together forever, baby..."

"Me too. I love you so much, Snitchy," Oliver cooed, stroking a finger lightly down Harry's cheek and then kissing him passionately.

"I love you too, baby," Harry returned the kiss with just as much, if not more enthusiasm. "So, what's the plan for the rest of the day?"

"Hmmm..." Oliver mused. "First off, we can put James Sirius in the bath and then put him into his cot for the night. Then it's going to be bath time for _us_ before we settle down to watch a film together. After that, we can go to bed ourselves. Sound like plan?"

"Sounds like a plan," Harry repeated, and he gave Oliver a kiss on the cheek before they gathered a clean set of clothes for James Sirius and made their way up the stairs towards the bathroom.


	13. Double Development

**So I recently discovered that my writing is MUCH better in first-person, so from the next chapter I'll be writing the story as though Harry is telling it, which will also have the added benefit of making the sex scenes seem that much more... real... ;)**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen – Double Development**

"It's alright, little James," Oliver soothed James Sirius. "It'll all be over soon. Look! Daddy's got something to cover your eyes while we get this nasty shampoo off your head."

The baby had only been in the bath for a few minutes and he was already crying to be out, which broke Harry's heart.

"There..." Harry said gently, folding a flannel into halves, quarters and then eighths.

He placed it over James Sirius' eyes and held it firmly to keep any shampoo out of the way.

"D-Dada!" James Sirius cried, and Harry's heart gave a painful pang.

"Oh James, nothing is going to happen," Harry crooned. "See? Mummy's finished washing your hair now. You're all clean."

"Dada!" the baby repeated. "Want Dada!"

"Blimey, that's fast," Oliver said in astonishment. "He's learning other words now!"

"Dada's here, everything is going to be okay."

Harry took James Sirius out of the bath and held him at arm's length while Oliver wrapped a towel around his cold, wet body. Then, when the towel was secure and the baby could start warming up, Harry held him as close as possible. But James Sirius continued to cry.

"Shhhh... Let's get you dried and into your cot. I think someone's tired..."

"Yeah," Oliver nodded. "Then we can take a bath all of our own and wash each other, just like we used to."

"I can't wait," Harry smiled. "I love you, Ollie."

"I love you too, sweetheart," Oliver replied, and he released the plug from the bath.

He leaned over to Harry and pressed their lips together.

"Mama?"

"Do you want to go to Mama? Here you go," Harry lifted James Sirius off his now-wet shoulder and handed him over to Oliver.

"Mama loves you, you special little boy," Oliver cooed. "Let's get you to sleep now..."

Harry and Oliver moved from the bathroom into the bedroom, where Oliver promptly dressed James Sirius in a cute aqua bodysuit and laid him comfortably in his cot.

"Have a nice nap, son," Harry whispered as James Sirius started up at him.

He placed a kiss to the baby's forehead, then stepped aside so that Oliver could give their son a warm hug.

"Sleep tight, Mama's little angel. You're growing up so fast..."

"And it's all because he's got two of the most loving parents he could ever ask for," Harry said genially, and he snaked his arms around Oliver's waist from behind. "I love you, Ollie."

"Now, what can I say to that which actually does justice to how I feel about you?" Oliver twirled around in Harry's arms until they were face-to-face.

"How about nothing?" Harry said quietly, drawing his face close to Oliver's and stroking inside his shirt. "I think that our son and the baby on its way are the perfect expressions of love, aside from being close to each other like this."

It was then that Oliver bridged the gap between them and initiated the most powerful and passionate kiss they had shared in a significant while. When they broke apart, Harry was panting for air.

"Is something up, baby?" he said worriedly. "That's the best kiss you've given me in ages, like you really need to be loved and comforted."

"I just want... I just want to lay with you and cuddle with you in the bath," Oliver sniffed, and Harry was alarmed to find that tears were rolling down his face.

"Oh Ollie... why are you crying?"

"I don't know. I just love you and James Sirius so much..."

"Come on. Let's get you in the bath. I think I'll give you a nice massage and maybe a more effective stress release. If you know what I mean..." Harry added with a mischievous smirk.

"You always know how to make me smile," Oliver grinned wetly.

"I'd be a pretty darn awful husband if I didn't know how to cheer my man up, wouldn't I?" Harry said, leading Oliver out of the bedroom away from a lightly snoozing James Sirius and back into the bathroom.

With a flick of his wand, Harry turned the taps on, and after a few minutes of the two men kissing, the bath was filled just enough to accommodate them without overflowing.

"These clothes aren't exactly doing us any favours..." Harry murmured, removing Oliver's shirt. "What we need is to be naked. Any objections?"

"None at all," said Oliver, who returned Harry's favour.

They quickly removed the rest of their clothes.

"I'll get in first and then you can lay in between my legs," Harry told Oliver. "I need to have access to all of your body if I'm going to de-stress you."

Harry climbed into the placid hot water, which soothed every muscle in his body as he unwound himself amidst the relaxing vapours.

"You have no idea just how drowsy this is making me feel..." Harry chuckled. "Get in, hot stuff."

Oliver, smiling with a loving glint in his eyes, laid on top of Harry, and he hissed as he allowed the pacifying water to wash over his tired and worn muscles. He positioned himself such that Harry's legs were at either side of his waist while he rested his head upon the younger man's shoulder.

"This isn't so bad now, is it?" Harry said lowly, taking a beaker from the side of the tub and pouring small amounts of water onto Oliver.

"Love you..." Oliver whispered.

"Love you, too. Now, do you want to tell me why you were crying earlier?"

"Like I said, I don't know. I think it might just be hormones because of the baby."

"It might be..." Harry said. "Or it might be something else."

"It's not, sweetheart, I promise..."

"Okay," said Harry, who ran his hands along Oliver's torso and pressed in a few sensitive spots. "As long as you're happy."

"I've never been happier," Oliver said through what Harry could have sworn was a sniffle.

"Hey now, what's wrong? Ollie, baby, look at me."

Oliver turned his head around to face Harry, and Harry saw that yet another wave of tears was flooding Oliver's cheeks.

"I love you, Harry James Potter-Wood."

"Oh Ollie... I love you too," Harry said sadly. "But this needs to stop; I can't stand seeing you so upset."

"Hold me, Harry," Oliver pleaded. "I just want to be held close to you."

"I'll always be here to hold you, sweetie. I guess you like that name?" he added when Oliver let out a sigh of laughter.

"Yeah, I think I like that name," said Oliver, who then pressed his lips to Harry's once again. "Harry, please... I need release..."

"And it's release you'll get."

Harry curled his tongue around Oliver's earlobe and gave it a subtle flick, savouring the resulting minute shudders.

He was aware of his own very hard, very painful arousal in between Oliver's butt cheeks, but he was more bothered about gratifying his husband than tending to himself at that moment in time, so he decided to forego his own needs, reached down to Oliver's steadily hardening appendage and took it in his hand with a firm grasp.

"Harry..." Oliver gasped. "R-Rub it..."

"My pleasure... Well, yours anyway," Harry laughed to himself.

He brought his balled-up fist to the tip of Oliver's dick, which was increasing in hardness quite quickly, and gave it a little squeeze, before stroking back down in an exquisite, fluid motion.

"That's it..." Oliver moaned. "K-Keep doing that..."

Harry obliged.

His second hand came into the equation and moved in the opposite direction to his other hand; while his right hand swept down Oliver's length, his left hand swept up it, and the effect that this was having on Oliver was quite clear.

Oliver's breathing was ragged in no time as Harry serviced him, and it wasn't long before laborious amounts of precum were pooling and frothing at his slit.

"Harry... Harry... Harry..."

Ritualistic chants of his name fuelled Harry's desire to please the melting mess of a man in his arms, and as he quickened his pace on the throbbing length, he could hear a certain wheeze in Oliver's voice.

"You want to come soon?"

"N-No..." Oliver gasped. "I-I want... you to come with... with me... I can feel... your dick... my arse..."

"Are you asking me to make love to you?"

"Want... to make love... to you..."

"Oh I see... You want me to ride you?"

Oliver simply nodded, for Harry's grip was getting firmer and the strokes were becoming harsher by the minute. Harry delivered a kiss to Oliver's neck with such divine intensity, squeezing the log of flesh in his hand tighter than what was necessary, that the older man bucked hips unexpectedly, and after a very loud, unyielding cry, Harry's hand was pumped with reams of sticky white fluid.

"I'm... I'm sorry..." Oliver panted. "It's just that... you were doing it so good..."

"Sweetie, it's fine," Harry said, washing the substance off his hand in the water around them.

He placed a gentle kiss to Oliver's lips.

"If I'm being honest, I didn't really want to ride you; all that mattered was making you unwind. Understand?"

"Yes but... I feel bad because I've had an orgasm and you haven't..."

"It doesn't matter," Harry assured him. "I'm just glad you got the release you needed."

"At least let me return the favour," Oliver begged.

"No," Harry said flatly. "This is about you, not me. Now just lay back and soak in peace."

"But-!"

"No buts! I can take care of this little problem myself. You, on the other hand, are going to lay on the sofa when we get out of the bath and I'm going to wait on you, hand-and-foot like a good husband and father should. Capisce?"

"Oh alright," Oliver sighed in defeat. "This water's starting to get a little bit cold now. Shall we get out?"

"Yeah, I don't want you to catch a cold," Harry said, and he applied a little bit of pressure to Oliver's back in an attempt to get him to stand up.

"The doting father returns!" Oliver joked. "No but seriously, I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you too, sweetie. Now, get your cute butt into that bedroom and get dried and dressed. Mama needs some relaxation time and Dada is going to give him it."

Over the next couple of weeks, Harry waited on tenterhooks for some form of contact from Professor Dumbledore regarding the date for interviews. Although it was important for him to find out when he'd be getting interviewed for the Defence Against the Dark Arts trainee teacher position, he cared about that much less than the other pressing matter he and Oliver already had; Oliver was in dire need of a hologram, and postponing it until Harry's interview had been sorted started to seem like a very stupid and selfish idea indeed.

"Sweetie, I'm sorry," Harry said in a rather sympathetic tone of voice.

A few days after finding out that he was pregnant, Oliver had already started exhibiting the tiniest of bumps on his stomach, and he would oftentimes just sit on the sofa and gaze down at himself.

"What for?" he replied, noticing the downtrodden expression on Harry's face.

"For being selfish. For being a bad husband and father. I put my job before our child..."

"Don't you dare blame yourself, Harry James Potter-Wood," Oliver said sternly. "You're trying to provide for your family and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. _Nothing_. Are you listening to me? I'm not going to let you beat yourself up for trying to do what's right for the people you love. Understand?"

"Perfectly," Harry mumbled. "But I still feel bad about pushing the hologram back."

"It'll only be for a couple of days," said Oliver, suddenly assuming a soft voice. "The latest I'll have the hologram will be the twentieth. Oh, here's Zeus with the post now!"

Zeus soared into the living room like a great, gleaming jet and dropped a small bundle of letters onto the coffee table (Harry and Oliver's weekly imbursement included in a minute woven sack).

"What do they say?" Harry asked.

"Bill... bill... holiday leaflet... bill... takeaway menu-"

"Keep the takeaway menu."

"Here you go, sweetheart; a letter from Dumbledore for you. There's an unsigned letter here as well..."

"Take a look at it while I read the letter," Harry said, opening the envelope excitedly.

_Dear Mr Potter-Wood  
The date and time of your interview will be the 17__th__ August at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. Please ensure that you wear the appropriate attire. You will need your wand and nothing else.  
Sincerely,  
Prof. A. Dumbledore_

"Seventeenth of August at three o'clock," Harry repeated. "We should get in touch with Midwitch Jones as soon as we can and arrange the hologram for the sixteenth. Ollie?"

"Harry, what do you think this means?"

Oliver handed Harry the unsigned letter. The message was longer on this one, and it had more of an effect on Harry; for one thing, it made his skin crawl.

_A cat has nine lives. One life per day seems fair, don't you think?_

"We've got to take this to the police," Harry said quickly. "It seems like the sender is counting down to something... But what?"

"I have no idea," Oliver said. "It certainly seems as though that's what they're doing, though. They say 'a cat has nine lives' and it's a life each day. It could just be counting nine days from now."

"Nine days until what?"

"It's nine days until the day of your interview," Oliver suggested. "Maybe that's what they're counting down to."

"But they say 'a life per day' as though they're striking something off in preparation. What could it be?"

"Harry, we don't know anyone or anything with nine of something to get rid of. Maybe it's Ron sending us messages hoping that we'll get scared or something. He did say that we'd be seeing more of him..."

"Yeah... yeah, that fits. Nine days until my interview, and that probably goes for the other members of staff as well. He's just counting down to his interview and trying to scare me while he does it. I see what his plan is: he's trying to scare me away from attending the interview so that he'll get the job at the school and I won't be around to bother him!"

"Still, we should take it to the police, just to make sure," Oliver said.

"I'll see Monica on my way to the shops today," said Harry. "We're running low on butter, milk and eggs. _You_," he added sharply as Oliver stood from the sofa. "You can stay on that couch and do nothing."

"I'm going to have to get used to this new overprotective Harry, aren't I?" Oliver smirked amusedly.

"Yes, you are. And it's not as though it's the first time I've been overprotective. Remember what I was like when you were pregnant with James Sirius?"

It would have been almost impossible to forget how smothering Harry was when it first surfaced that Oliver was pregnant with James Sirius; it was one thing for Harry to help him down flights of stairs, but it was something entirely different for Harry to ban him from moving around much, although it seemed that this rule was completely disregarded when Swampstead led her final attack on Hogwarts.

"Yeah, I remember," Oliver laughed. "How could I forget? It doesn't matter though. I'm just glad that my amazing husband was trying to help. I love you, sweetheart."

"The feeling's mutual, my love," said Harry, who placed the sweetest of kisses to Oliver's lips. "I won't be long."

"Make sure to give Monica the letter!" Oliver called as Harry made his way out of the cottage into the sun-drenched village beyond.

Just like most of the days this summer, there was not a cloud in the sky and the typical prickly heat that often accompanied unacceptably high levels of humidity made sweat erupt onto Harry's forehead in the form of little beads.

"Better buy some ice lollies while I'm at it..." he sighed to himself as he turned onto the High Street, which was unusually quiet considering the time of day. "Where the hell is everybody?"

Halfway down the High Street, Harry saw the familiar, neat form of Monica's mother's house, which he was glad to see currently held Monica, Amy and Christopher; they were cleaning the windows, obviously taking advantage of the glorious weather.

"Monica!" Harry shouted, taking a hold of the note in his pocket. "Have you got a minute?"

"Hello, Harry!" Monica said cheerily. ""Yes, I'll be down in a sec. Amy, Christopher, when I get back, this window better be spotless."

"Yes, mum," the two bored teens intoned, their arms showing signs of fatigue.

Harry wondered to himself just how long they'd been doing this for...

"What can I do for you?" Monica asked with a smile as she came out of the house, meeting Harry at the end of the neatly-pruned and variedly-coloured garden.

"I thought I'd bring this to you," Harry said seriously, handing over the note and taking one last, fleeting glance at the strange scrawl the message had been written in. "It might not mean much, but it might mean a whole lot..."

"_A cat has nine lives. One life per day seems fair, don't you think?_" Monica read aloud. "I'll take a look at it as soon as I'm through with the housework. My mother isn't feeling too well so the kids and I are cleaning up for her. Oh, before you go, could you do me a big, big favour and post these for me? They're mine and Chandler's divorce papers."

"Yeah, no problem," Harry said politely, taking a tightly-packed envelope from her. "I'll post them when I'm on my way back from the shops."

"Thanks for showing me this," Monica said lowly. "It could play a vital part in the investigation. How was your birthday, by the way? I saw on your graduation diploma that your date of birth is the thirty-first of July."

"I told everyone that I didn't want a party this year; I just wanted to have a family night in with Oliver and James Sirius. Trust me when I say this; I'd rather spend time with my family than partying. Speaking of family, Oliver's pregnant again!"

"He is? Well congratulations! You must be proud."

"Even more so than when we first found out that Oliver was pregnant with James Sirius. This job at Hogwarts is really going to come in handy for when the next baby comes along, if I get the job, that is."

"I'm sure you will," Monica assured him. "With all the things you've been through, Dumbledore would be mad to deny you the position."

"Thanks, but I'm not that remarkable," Harry said modestly. "Look, I'd best be going. I've got a pregnant husband at home and if I know him well enough, this heat is going to make him want an ice lolly. Good thing I'm two steps ahead of him. I'll talk to you later, Monica."

"Bye, Harry! Oh, before you go, we need to arrange a night for you and Oliver to come and have dinner."

"I'll have to check with him first," Harry said unsurely. "What with the baby attaching itself to him in the magical sac, he hasn't been feeling right lately. We'll arrange a date, don't worry about that. See you later!"

With that, he set off in the direction of the local convenience store, which had suddenly popped into existence a couple of weeks after the International Statue of Wizarding Secrecy had been repealed. The owner, a kind old Japanese man (Muggle, Harry presumed), had quickly grown to be someone that the community loved. He was always polite towards his customers, and if they were struggling to afford the bare essentials, he would oftentimes give them the things they needed without charge.

"Hello, Mr Samazaki," Harry waved as he walked into the cool store.

"Hello, Mr Potter-Wood! My favourite customer!" the elderly shopkeeper smiled toothlessly. "What can I do for you on this fine summer day?"

"I'm just getting a few little bits and pieces. We're running low on milk, eggs and butter."

"Let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

"Thanks."

Harry only spent a few minutes in the shop browsing through the different things he could buy. Sure, all he needed were eggs, milk and bread, but he could tell that the weather in the forthcoming days would probably only get hotter, so he found the freezer once he'd picked up a box of cereal and a few tins of baked beans, then rummaged around in its heavenly algid depths until he pulled out a packet of ten ice lollies, in a variety of five different flavours; grape, strawberry, apple, blackcurrant and raspberry.

"How are the family doing?" Mr Samazaki asked courteously.

"Amazing," Harry said, pacing up to the counter and putting the items down. "We're having another baby."

"Congratulations!" the shopkeeper beamed. "I tell you what, fifty percent off as way of a celebration, eh?"

"Mr Samazaki, it's a wonder that you manage to make a profit with all of your deals and offers," Harry chuckled.

"I'm not in it for the money, Mr Potter-Wood. To me, it's all about serving the local community."

"Well, I'm glad you have that outlook on life," Harry said, handing over half the amount of gold he had originally intended on spending. "Not many people would throw away money for the benefit of others. It's more people like you what the world needs. Anyway, goodbye, Mr Samazaki! See you soon!"

"Goodbye, Mr Potter-Wood!"

"Call me Harry!" Harry said as he left the store with two carrier bags of goods, heading towards the post box and then home.

"Sweetie, I'm home!"

"We were just wondering where you'd got to!" Oliver said happily and almost waltzed out of the living room, a freshly-woken James Sirius in his arms and a very giddy Snuffles yapping at his heels.

"I gave the letter to Monica," Harry said, placing a kiss to Oliver's cheek. "She said she was going to look into it further. By the way, we need to talk about a night that we can go to her house for dinner."

"I think it should be after you've been to your interview. I sent an owl to Midwitch Jones just after you left to ask her if the sixteenth was okay for me to have my hologram, and she got back to me not half an hour ago saying that it was fine."

"Say, the eighteenth then?"

"I can't see why not. Doesn't it seem slightly odd to you that she's in the middle of a quadruple murder investigation and is _still_ inviting people round for dinner? If I had her job, I wouldn't rest until the case was solved."

"And that's why I love you," Harry grinned, pulling Oliver into a tender and loving kiss. "So determined..."

"What brought this on all of sudden?" Oliver said amusedly. "Never mind. You're amazing when you get all lovey-dovey."

"I love being all lovey-dovey," Harry said as he took the carrier bags into the kitchen. "I picked up a few other things from the shop while I was there, by the way. We have eggs, milk and butter, like we needed, but I also picked up some cereal, baked beans, _and_..."

He rummaged around in the bag while Oliver stood on the other side of the kitchen, wiping away legions of sweat from his brow.

"These."

Harry pulled out the ice lollies and showed them to Oliver, who showed far more excitement than was perhaps considered normal.

"Ice lollies!" he yelped. "How did you know?"

"I always know what it is that my man wants," Harry winked.

He took three out of the box and cut one of them in half.

"One each for us, and James Sirius can have half of one. They're far too big for him to eat at once."

"I'm craving one of the grape-flavoured ones actually..." Oliver murmured. "I think the baby knows what it wants!"

"Here you go," said Harry, who handed a whole grape-flavoured ice lolly to Oliver and half of a strawberry-flavoured one to James Sirius.

"Tanks, Dada!"

"You're welcome, son," Harry gave the boy a fatherly kiss. "Blimey, he's growing up so fast. Going to be quite a task to keep him in check over the next couple of months, especially with the other little angel on its way."

"Did you hear that, little James? You're going to have a brother or sister soon!"

"Budder! Sidder!"

"Yes, a budder or sidder," Harry chortled.

Then he took the child from Oliver and gave him a tight hug.

"Lub 'oo, Mama! Lub 'oo, Dada!"

"We love you too, little James," Oliver said happily.

"Mmmmm! Yum!" James Sirius said cutely, his eyes lighting up at the strawberry flavour.

"I think he likes the ice lolly," Harry grinned.

"I'm not surprised," said Oliver. "It's absolutely boiling."

"Do we have anything to do today?"

"Not really. We have everything we need food-and-drink-wise. I think we should just spend the day out in the garden. We can play with James Sirius in his little paddling pool, and then we can have a barbecue later."

"A family day in the garden? Sounds perfect, sweetie."

Harry laid another gentle kiss on Oliver's lips.

The day ahead went just as Harry and Oliver had planned; not long after a quick lunch of cheese sandwiches, Harry brought James Sirius' small paddling pool out of the attic and put it in the garden.

"Is James Sirius in his swimming trunks yet, Ollie?" called Harry, who left his wand resting on the rubber rim to fill the pool up.

"Yep," Oliver responded, walking out into the sunlight wearing nothing but a pair of beach shorts.

In his arms was James Sirius, who was clad in a pair of blue trunks and looking more adorable than ever.

"There's my cute little boy," Oliver said proudly, laying James Sirius across his lap as he sat down on a lawn chair and picked up a bottle of sun cream. "Better make sure you're safe before we put you in the sun."

Harry watched, also wearing a simple pair of beach shorts, beaming endlessly at his happy family. Then he noticed something peculiar about Oliver's stomach.

"Sweetie, look at your stomach. You've got the treasure trail I love, but your abs are smoothing out..."

"Baby's developing quickly," Oliver said knowingly, and he applied a tiny blob of cream to James Sirius' back before spreading it out evenly. "It's because we love each other so much, which I'm not complaining about. To be honest, I'm not bothered about losing my abs now; I want to proudly display my baby bump when it appears."

"And so you should," Harry agreed. "There's nothing wrong with carrying a baby whether you're a woman _or_ a man.  
"Pool's full! In we go, little James!"

For the next couple of hours, Harry and Oliver sat in the deceptively small pool with James Sirius, who was loving every minute he spent playing with his mother and father, shrieking with joy each time Harry splashed water at a boisterous Snuffles. The Crup, who wouldn't stop trying to jump into the pool, simply bit at the water as it hit his face and ran around the garden hyperactively.

As the afternoon progressed, Harry and Oliver's happiness increasing, it became time to get out of the pool. James Sirius' skin was very wrinkled, and so was Harry and Oliver's, but by the time they had all gotten dry and stood back outside in the blazing, mid-afternoon sunshine they regained their elasticity.

"Let's see," Harry mumbled as he rummaged through the cupboard for a jar of fruit paste for James Sirius.

Oliver was tending to the barbecue outside, which belched plumes of thick black smoke into the already humid air.

"Apple and cranberry, I think."

Harry plucked the jar from the cupboard, took off the lid and walked back outside with a spoon towards James Sirius, who was sat in his high chair and humming happily to himself.

"Here you go, James," Harry said, opening his mouth in an attempt to get James Sirius to do the same. "Dinner time."

"Yum!" James Sirius said through a mouthful of paste.

His tongue had stopped pushing food from his mouth each time he ate something, so it made feeding him a much simpler task. It wouldn't be long before he could feed himself, Harry thought, but felt guilty; he didn't want this bonding time with his son to come to an end just yet, and as he spooned another mouthful of food into James Sirius mouth, he remembered that Oliver's pregnancy would only last a few months at the most; their love for each other refused to be subdued, so they allowed it to grow and thrive, which also had the added benefit of enabling conception for the both of them as well as allowing James Sirius _and_ the other baby to develop at an exceptionally fast rate.

Once James Sirius had finished his meal, he began to cry for a reason that completely baffled Harry and Oliver. They tried juice, checking his nappy, his temperature and even whether he was still hungry, all of which were disproved as the cause of the boy's ailment.

"Wait..." Oliver said in realisation. "You don't think he could be... _teething,_ do you?"

Harry looked at Oliver scarcely; they didn't have a teething ring yet.

"Open wide, James," Harry said, and as gently as he could he opened his son's mouth. "Wow..."

Lined like soldiers along James' top gum were a few very small, very delicate white teeth, only half-poking through the flesh but obviously still enough to cause a considerable amount of pain.

"My poor, poor boy," Oliver said sadly, hugging a weeping James Sirius. "It's okay, Mummy's got you. Mummy will look after you. Harry, would you be able to make a run into Diagon Alley to get a teething ring for him before the shops close?"

"Of course I can, yeah," Harry nodded, and after giving Oliver a hurried kiss, James Sirius receiving a comforting pat on the head, he Disapparated with a loud bang.

Harry didn't care that he startled a group of elderly witches as he Apparated in Diagon Alley; his only concern was finding a teething ring to pacify his agonised son, and as he practically ran down the High Street, his eyes scanned wildly for any shop that could sell him baby things.

Eventually, he found one in the shape of a refurbished building that exhibited a collection of toys and cots in its newly polished windows. He stormed inside.

"Do you have any teething rings?" he said quickly, coming across as rather impetuous to the sales assistant he was addressing.

"We do, sir. They're right at the end of the baby care aisle."

"Thanks," he muttered incomprehensibly, bolting in the direction she was pointing.

Within a matter of seconds he had grabbed two teething rings and was heading towards the checkout, and he slammed an uncounted amount of gold down in front of the cashier before dashing out of the shop and Disapparating back to the cottage.

"That was fast!" Oliver said amazedly as Harry marched in through the back door. "How much was-?"

"No idea, don't care, just want to stop James Sirius from hurting."

"Well, look at you, Mr Doting Father," Oliver teased, taking the teething rings from Harry and casting a quick Freezing Charm on one of them, watching as it solidified and accumulated beads of condensation. Then, in the soothing, motherly voice that only he could assume, he said, "There, there, James. Mummy has a nice, cool teething ring to fight those mean little teeth. Nobody hurts my little boy without dealing with me.  
"Thanks, sweetheart, he was nearing hysterics."

"Anything to keep our little boy happy," Harry said quietly, letting Oliver rest his head upon his shoulder and watching as the teary, sobbing boy in front of them chewed on a teething ring. "I love you, Ollie."

"I love you too, sweetheart. You and James mean the world to me."

"I could say the same for you, my love..."

Harry took Oliver's arm and pulled him close. Oliver let himself trip over a lagging foot and fell into Harry's waiting embrace, their lips lingering closely together.

"I want to make love tonight," Oliver murmured, pulling Harry down into a kiss. "It just seems like the perfect day to show each other our love..."

"If you want to make love, I have no objections," Harry said quietly. "I'll take any opportunity to show just how much I love you, Oliver Potter-Wood."

"We need to see a Bonding officer at the Ministry as soon as we can," said Oliver, who stroked a finger lightly down Harry's cheek. "The sooner our souls start getting prepared for the Consummation, the better. I can't wait to give part of my soul to you, sweetheart. You deserve it so much..."

"You deserve a part of mine just as much," Harry whispered, kissing Oliver again. "My special man... Words just can't describe my love..."

"We won't need words later; our bodies will do all the talking."

Harry and Oliver kissed one final time.

It appeared that James Sirius' pain was wearing off for now; he was no longer biting down on the teething ring, which lay abandoned on his high chair in front of him as he smiled endlessly at his mother and father, who remained locked at the lips until a considerable amount of time later.


	14. Interview Intimidation

**After discovering that first-person narrative is more effective (and interesting) than using plain, old third-person, I decided to change the story to Harry's point of view. So, prepare for future chapters to be more intense. c:**

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen – Interview Intimidation**

With an amazing husband and a gorgeous little boy like James Sirius, the days running up to my interview couldn't go faster.

I wait with unyielding anticipation; while I know that my chances of becoming a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher are just the same as anybody else's, I can't help but feel as though the fact that Albus is my old headmaster will be of some advantage to me.

Oliver's wise words that Dumbledore won't be biased keep ringing through my head, and with only five days to go before my interview, it's like someone is hammering the final nail into the coffin.

"Sweetheart, you'll do fine," Oliver assures me, putting a few Imperturbable Charms around the bed.

He's always been one to make sure that I'm at my most confident, and it's one of the countless reasons why I love him so much.

"You're perfect for the job. All of that experience at such a young age? Dumbledore would be mad not to give you it."

"I suppose," I reply unsurely. "You're always there to make me feel better. I love you, Ollie, my wonderful, caring, incredible man..."

"I love you too, Harry."

I allow myself to fall back onto the covers while Oliver straddles my waist.

Making love with Oliver is one of the finer parts of my life, mainly because I really get to show him just how much he means to me. While I might be the receptive partner most of the time, it still comes with the small opportunities for me to give a little pleasure back.

"Ollie..." I breathe as my husband suckles on my neck, nibbling here-and-then and driving me crazy without much effort. "Make love to me..."

Even before we've gotten fully naked I'm melting beneath Oliver's exquisitely intense ministrations, and breath escapes me without any conscious thought on my part.

He trails his mouth down towards my chest and stops briefly to take both of our shirts off, then he resumes the sensual dance with his tongue and starts to draw minute circles around each of my erect nipples, which point out as though they're cold when they're really just mirroring the painful arousal residing in my trousers.

"Oh my... Please, sweetie... lower..."

"Mummy's having cravings..." Oliver mutters seductively in my ear. "Can Daddy satiate Mummy with some food?"

"I can think of a cream sauce that could help. Look in my trousers; you might find it there..."

Oliver grins mischievously and kisses a fiery trail down my body so fast that I nearly get carpet burns. Then he takes a tight hold of my trousers and yanks them down, letting them fall to the floor with the soft thud of fabric.

"Someone came prepared," Oliver smirks. "Do I take it that Daddy wants to feed Mummy?"

"Daddy _does _want to feed Mummy," I wink.

He dives with an open mouth onto my exposed dick, which was revealed as soon as my trousers were removed; I had good sense not to put on underwear today.

"Ollie!" I say with a gasp as his lips encircle my swollen head. "L-Lick it... suck it..."

He unleashes his tongue and gives my slit a very subtle flick, then he takes a gulp and pushes himself down further. A few inches of my length slide into his throat, but he's gotten so used to making love with me that his gag reflex barely exists.

He hums our favourite song to me while he bobs up and down, and I shiver and quake under the vibrations that are sending waves of pleasure through my body.

His mouth is so moist, his lips are so soft, it's all enough to drive me to the very edges of climax, and I clutch and scrabble at the bed sheets in a desperate attempt to avoid exploding in his mouth.

"Ohhh!"

I can't stop myself from calling out Oliver's name through my foggy mind, my hands roaming around every bit of his head that I can find, and when I secure my fingers amidst his smooth brown locks, I give an appreciative squeeze.

Oliver hums louder and increases the tingling in my dick as he licks down the sensitive underside while maintaining his dazzling speed. I've never received such a fantastic blowjob from him before, and I'm hoping that this is the way it's going to be every time we make love.

"Ollie, I'm getting- Ngh! I'm getting close!"

I don't know how much more of this I can take, for the gentle scraping of his teeth and rapid flexes of his tongue are pushing me almost over the limit. He's sucking me harder than I can recall, and it makes me feel like a straw; a very excited, desire-ridden straw that's about to be unclogged. Just one precise movement and-

"OLLIE!" I scream, and my spine goes into spasms as every muscle in my body contracts, firing out one single, unending stream of cum that Oliver laps up greedily.

Panting and wheezing, there's just no way for me to be able to breathe properly until Oliver releases me and lays atop my torso, grinning down at me as though his intention was to get me completely breathless.

"Mummy did good?"

"Mummy did amazing..."

Oliver laces his lips with mine and lets his tongue, which was violently assaulting me a minute ago, slip gently into my mouth like an inquisitive worm. He tastes likes strawberries and his old, unique flavour mixed in with something that I'm assuming is what remains of my orgasm.

As we kiss slowly but passionately, Oliver removes his trousers and I instantly feel his pulsating appendage rubbing against the wetness of my flaccidity.

"I love you..." I whisper, grabbing his wand from the table next to us and handing it to him. "Lube up, sweetie, I want to feel you inside me. Don't forget the Sterilisation Spell, either; we don't want another baby quite just yet."

"My sweet, sweet Harry," Oliver nuzzles lovingly into me for a few seconds. "Get ready for some fun."

He pulls himself away from me after planting another sweet kiss to my lips and mutters, "_Lubrico!_", then after rubbing the lubricant into both my hole and his dick he Sterilises himself.

"You ready?" he asks, aligning our bodies in the perfect position for lovemaking. "Here we go."

He pushes forward and I'm ready for his entry. I hiss in pleasure from the moment his head breaches the tight ring of muscles in my arse and I groan even louder when he's fully-sheathed. One of the benefits of having a husband with a large penis is that he can hit your prostate even before he's gone all the way inside you, and it's only now that I realise just how deep my Oliver can go.

"That's it, Ollie!" I cry. "So big... so deep..."

"Mph..." Oliver grunts. "I'm all the way in now. Ready for me to rock your world, sweetheart?"

"I'm always ready," I growl, cupping his arse cheeks with both hands and pulling him hard to make sure that he really is as deep inside as possible.

I hook my legs over his shoulders as he leans forward, his lips coming back into contact with mine, and then I can feel his first motions of our lovemaking.

He pulls out until only his head remains inside and my muscles shift with his movement. Then when he plunges back inside with the force of a raging bull, I roar my approval; he slams straight into my prostate and the insides of my arse follow him in whichever direction he chooses to shove.

I don't care that this isn't the usual, slow lovemaking we usually engage in; all that matters to me right now is that I've got this amazing, special man pounding me into the mattress, and even though his thrusts aren't making it obvious, his eyes are filled with the same loving adoration he showed me eleven months ago.

For a brief moment we part lips, and he takes the time to utter that three-worded phrase we've grown so used to saying to each other.

"I love you."

I manage the sentiment as well, but only barely, and before I can fully use the breath with which I professed my love for him, Oliver encapsulates our lips once again.

If I wasn't able to breathe through my nose I'd be suffocating right now.

I try to breathe out of my mouth but I'm prevented by both Oliver's lips and my own harsh wails of immeasurable pleasure as we waltz together on the bed, which is quickly becoming soaked as our bodies gain a sweaty sheen.

"Ollie... Ollie... Ollie..." I mumble incomprehensibly.

The sensations I'm getting from his powerful thrusts are turning my mind into a warzone and there's nothing I can do to clean up the mess of words that are spouting out of my mouth as his delicious cock completely rearranges my insides, not to mention the fact that I'm breathing so hard it's a miracle my diaphragm hasn't torn.

I drag my nails down his back, knowing that he'll feel it for days afterwards, and then I finally manage to break away from the compressing kiss only to attach myself to his neck with my teeth bared and raring to nibble him into submission.

"You like that?"

"I fucking love it..." Oliver groans.

I know just how to get his motor running, and it turns out that one of his most sensitive spots, apart from his pelvic region, is his neck.

My spine starts to tingle again, and when I feel my scrotum tightening I know that there won't be much longer before I burst into cataclysms of overwhelming pleasure.

There's a certain look that Oliver gives me when he's about to head into orgasm. It usually involves his eyes narrowing and his breathing pitching to a level that only dogs can hear, but the most signifying trait of it is that he just can't stop spitting my name.

"Harry... Harry... HARRY!"

With his final roar resounding in my ears and echoing off the invisible walls caused by his Imperturbable Charms, Oliver melts down completely and goes into violent convulsions that jerk his dick involuntarily around inside me, and it's enough to bring me over the edge too.

We scream together, just like the countless times before, and he holds me so tight that we might as well be one person. His thrusts continue in an unrelenting string of attacks on my prostate, but I really don't care if it means that he's getting the pleasure he deserves.

I look down at our bodies slicked with sweat and watch my dick erupt like a volcano as I see a tsunami of cum flood from my arse.

With our breathing as laboured as it is, it's very difficult to manage words more than single syllables, so it's a good thing that our affection can still be expressed using the three simplest words we know.

He brings his lips back down to mine in a kiss so timid that I might just be hallucinating, but when I feel him trying to part my lips with his tongue, I know that all he wants now is to make up for the rough lovemaking we've just had.

"I'm sorry," he says sadly, stroking his hand through my sodden hair.

"What for?" I pant. "That was fantastic."

"I didn't want to go so rough. You deserve gentle loving..."

"Sweetie, as much as I love having slow sex with you, spicing it up a little bit by going a little rough is sometimes even more exhilarating. You don't honestly think I'm going to hold this against you, do you? I loved every second of it."

"You're just saying that."

"Hey," I say in a hurt tone of voice. "When have I ever not enjoyed making love with you, Ollie? You're so special to me; any form of lovemaking I can have with you is perfect. What brought your doubt on?"

"I don't know," Oliver says lowly. "I just that maybe you didn't appreciate being torn up like that."

"Hey dumbo," I say playfully. "I've torn you up like that before and did you complain? I don't think so. Now why would I complain about you doing something to me that I'd done to you?"

"You wouldn't," Oliver says shamefully.

"Exactly. Don't you be ashamed of yourself now!" I say warningly. "You had a very legitimate cause for concern, okay? I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart," Oliver murmurs, and he places our lips together one final time.

For the first time, I'm the one who is doing all the holding as we fall asleep, and it feels far greater than all the times I've nuzzled into Oliver's chest, which is exactly what Oliver is doing to me at this very moment. With my arms wrapped snugly around him and one of his arms draped over me, we find it incredibly easy to fall asleep; after just a few minutes of lying together, we're out like a light bulb.

The day of my interview arrives faster than I could have ever predicted, and my nerves skyrocket only an hour before I need to make my way up to Hogwarts.

It's the day of reckoning, for me at least. Oliver shows just as much if not more confidence in me and I'm provided with such a fulfilling sense of relief to know that he'll always be by my side that I even risk running late by spending a little bit of time snuggling with him on the bed.

"You're going to do fine," he says gently as we rub our noses together.

It might not be much, but it's one of our many signature methods of showing affection for each other.

"Remember: you've got experience that none of the other applicants could have possibly dreamed of."

"What about Rebekah, though?" I say worriedly. "She's had even more experience than me..."

"Rebekah is a reasonable woman. She will most likely see that you need this job more than her; you've got a second child on the way. Look at me," he takes my chin in between his thumb and forefinger and kisses me deeply. "If Dumbledore doesn't offer you the position, he's officially gone insane."

"Thanks, sweetie," I smile sheepishly, still brimming with a dangerous unease.

There's something about today that doesn't quite feel right. Even though the weather is beautiful and it hasn't rained in over two weeks, I can't help but notice an intimidating electricity in the air, a bit like the calm before a storm...

For the couple of days following our first mysterious letter, Oliver and I waited anxiously to see whether any more would turn up. None did.

Monica isn't exactly the most trustworthy person when it comes to murder investigations, that much is clear to me; she still hasn't gotten back to me with information about the sinister notes, and there's a small part of me that's starting to suspect that she isn't really bothered about the loss of my friends.

At least she's making an attempt to get to know me and my family. Oliver and I have lived in the cottage for six months and we've yet to actually make friends with many of our neighbours. This is quite surprising considering all of the things that we've done together and the two times that we've saved the world. Still, I'd much rather live a life in peace than constantly being in the public eye, which I know wouldn't exactly be helpful for little James Sirius who needs to grow up away from fame where he can make friends of his own. The same will apply to the other little gem that currently resides within my loving husband.

Whilst Oliver and I swore that we'd make James Sirius earn his money when he got older, we aren't so cruel that we haven't set up a small account at Gringotts so that he can live comfortably until then.

A couple of days ago, we contacted Monica about dinner at her house, and she agreed that tomorrow would be an okay day. Apparently, she's been having a little bit of trouble with Chandler, but Oliver and I both agreed to stay well away from her personal problems. We have the deaths of our friends to deal with, as it is.

Oliver and I glance at each other as we make our way up to Hogwarts. It's something unspoken between us, but we've mutually agreed that the quickest way of moving this investigation further is by conducting it on our own, whether the authorities like it or not.

I know that Oliver isn't just coming with me for moral support; there's a determined glint in his eyes that tells me all I need to know of his plans, which happen to involve scouring the castle for clues as to who the perpetrator of the murders was.

So far, we don't have anything to connect the murders apart from the fact that they all occurred in and around Hogwarts, which also makes me think that the killer has a grudge against the school. But why?

All I know is that we need to be very careful when walking around Hogwarts on our own, especially Oliver. Even though the baby inside him is protected from harm by the magical sac, that's not to say that James Sirius can't be hurt. If anything were to happen to either of them, I'd tear the monster behind the attack limb from limb...

"Sweetie, make sure you keep James Sirius close to you at all times. I don't want anything to happen to either of you..."

"I will, don't worry," Oliver smiles reassuringly at me, checking that James Sirius is comfortably asleep in his pram.

"Let's make sure he's comfortable," I say.

I reach into the pram and pull James Sirius' blanket off of his delicate body and see that his cheeks are bright red.

"Poor thing... So, where are you going to be while I'm having my interview?"

"I'll probably just take a walk around the castle and familiarise myself with our future home."

"It's going to be really weird, isn't it? Coming back to our old home as non-students?"

"Yeah, it really will be," Oliver says with a confident smirk. "It's nice to see that you're really confident about your interview now; you were a nervous wreck earlier."

"How could I not be confident when I have you around?" I say cleverly, planting a kiss to his lips.

"You're sweet," Oliver grins as we creep into the silhouette of Hogwarts' battlements across the luscious lawn.

It's cool in the shade even though the sun makes our skin blister when out in the blazing light, and as we walk through the great double doors leading into the familiar castle we once called home, we're met with a refreshing breeze that washes over us like the calm waves of the ocean.

"I miss that cool air during the summer..."

"It's only been a couple of months," Oliver shakes his head in amusement. "Did Dumbledore say where you had to go for your interview?"

"He didn't, but I'm guessing that he wants the applicants to go to his office. It seems like the most logical place to go."

"I'll just take a slow walk around the castle with James Sirius and get reacquainted with our future home. Good luck, sweetheart," Oliver pulls me into a tender kiss and James Sirius squawks from inside his pram.

"Look who's awake," I say playfully, tickling my beautiful little boy and loving the uproarious giggles coming from him. "Be good for Mummy."

"Bye, Dada!" James Sirius says brightly, and I swell with just a little bit more pride. "Hug!"

"You want a hug? Alright then."

Beaming, I embrace my son.

"Daddy's got to go, little James," Oliver says. "You're going to have a walk around the castle with Mummy now."

"Lub 'oo, Mama!"

"Mummy loves you too, James."

"I'll see you soon, sweetie," I say, and I head off towards the great bronze griffin while Oliver walks in the complete opposite direction, pushing James Sirius into the Great Hall which sounds strangely active for a day where only a few people are supposed to be in the castle. The ghosts must be having a meeting or something...

After twisting and turning several times, dodging a few sticks of chalk thrown by the ever-malevolent Peeves, Dumbledore's office comes into view.

Outside are five chairs, three of them currently occupied by people I do not recognise; a plump man wearing a plaid, padded-elbow jacket; a short, bony-faced woman with hawk-like eyes; and an elderly wizard with flyaway hair and a heavily wrinkled face.

The two remaining must be for myself and Rebekah, who currently isn't present. She must have already gone into Dumbledore's for her interview. I really hope that I'm the next one to be called in; the anxiety of waiting is already starting to have negative effects on me.

"You look nervous, m'dear," the woman says kindly.

She acts the exact opposite of what I would expect, but I suppose I should be used to this by now; Oliver and I were duped by two Nocturnimagi who were posing as Quidditch coaches at Hogwarts. That's something that I don't think we'll ever forget. I suppose there's one thing that I have to thank the Nocturnimagi for though, and that's the fact that Oliver and myself were drawn closer together. But that might have also been because of Vinculum Duo. How I miss my elemental powers...

"Would you like a Calming Caramel? They are very tasty and quite good at easing those nerves."

At any other point in my life I would have probably said yes, but right now I need to be on high alert for anything that might seem suspicious, and anything that can alter my body in any way, shape or form should be avoided at all costs, so I politely decline and sit in one of the vacant seat, remaining completely silent and mulling over my options for the time after my interview whilst Dumbledore decides who should get the position.

I suppose I could join Oliver in searching the castle for clues; two heads work better than one, right?

I sit there, staring at the menacing statuesque bird, and I realise that I haven't prepared myself for the interview. I have no idea what questions to expect and I have no idea what answers Dumbledore will want from me. Looks I'm going to have to improvise like I always do, but I really need to organise myself more if I'm going to become a teacher.

Silence fills the corridor and the only break comes in the form of an occasional lip smack from the woman who insists on rustling her paper bag of sweets. Would it really be much of a problem if I placed a Silencing Charm on her?

Then the bronze staircase jerks into life and ascends, descending a minute later.

I instantly recognise the familiar, bubblegum pink-haired woman that steps off, and she smiles at me welcomingly, pulling me into a friendly hug.

"Harry!" Rebekah says delightedly. "How are you doing? Dumbledore was just asking after you. He was worried that you wouldn't show up. What were you up to, or do I even need to ask?"

I raise a brow at her and she rolls her eyes. She knows me inside-out.

"Potter-Wood, Harry?" Dumbledore calls, emerging between the widely-spread wings of his guardian griffin. "Could I ask you to come upstairs, please? It's time for your interview."

"Good luck, Harry!" Rebekah waves as I step onto the staircase with Dumbledore and rise out of sight.

The spiralling motions never used to have an effect on me, but for some reason I feel quite nauseous as we come to a stop just outside the office I know to be filled with a variety of brass trinkets.

Dumbledore opens the door and beckons me inside, gesturing towards a chair that has been set up in front of his desk, behind which is the same old wall filled with portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses. Amongst the many snoring picture frames is a rectangular shape that looks oddly cleaner than the rest of the wall, and I soon realise that that's where Dumbledore's portrait once hung; the Nocturnimagi had managed to kill him nine months ago but Oliver and I had managed to resurrect him, along with countless other people, therefore negating his portrait's existence and leaving a dust-free zone that doesn't seem to have gain a single speck since then.

"Thank you for coming, Harry," Dumbledore says weakly.

His age is really starting to show now; his eyes have bags darker than I've ever seen and his face is riddled with creases so deep that they could give the Nazca Lines a run for their money. He looks so ill and I get the feeling that this might be the last time he oversees an application process for his school.

"I'm not feeling my best today, so I think we'll just get straight on with what needs to be done. Now, you currently have no experience in teaching, am I correct?"

"Yes," I say formally.

If I'm going to do this, I might as well do it right.

"I'm usually reluctant in offering my positions to applicants who don't have teaching experience, but I think I can make an exception if I take into account your encounters with the Dark Arts. Defence Against the Dark Arts is a _very_ practical subject, and you certainly have that sort of experience under your belt."

"Thank you."

"Your academic results..."

I wait with bated breath; even though I know that I've got the qualifications I need, I'm not sure as to whether Dumbledore will agree that they-

"...are outstanding. You've definitely got the qualifications required; all I need to make sure now is that you have the motivation and other skills necessary to teach in a stressful environment such as that at Hogwarts. Tell me Harry, how would you rate yourself out of ten _honestly_ in terms of your drive to achieve success?"

"That depends on what it is I'm trying to be successful at," I admit. "If I find the topic interesting, then of course I'm going to have the drive to do well. But if it's a subject that's boring to me, the chances are that I probably won't get work done more than what is absolutely necessary. So... I'd probably put that as a six."

"I like your honesty, Harry," Dumbledore says with an impressed smile. "Now, what about your patience? I know from experience that you can be quite the hothead at times..."

"Since I started my relationship with Oliver, I've actually grown more patient. Having a child and another on the way is certainly helping as well."

"You seem dedicated to your family life," Dumbledore says, assuming what appears to be a serious expression. "Is there any way that this might come in the way of your many duties as a teacher?"

"Oliver's pregnant right now and there's a high chance that the baby could develop just as fast as James Sirius, so I think I might need to take a couple of weeks off around the middle of October. But that all depends on just how fast the baby is developing. With regards to problems that might arise with James Sirius, I'm sorry Albus; as much as I'd love to work as a teacher, I promised my son, Oliver and myself that I'd always be there for them. Teaching isn't going to change that."

"Frankly, I'd be worried if work _did_ get in the way of your family life," Dumbledore says flatly. "I can see that you have your priorities in order. You're a very mature person for your age, Harry. Very good...  
"Your attitude towards young people is conspicuous; by having a son and a second baby at such a young age as eighteen, I can see clearly that children hold a special place in your heart."

"Thank you."

"As part of your Careers meeting with Professor McGonagall, you had myself down as a referee for any future jobs you might apply for. Since I'm the one who is offering the position, you will not need a reference. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Still hard to kick that habit, eh Harry?" Dumbledore chortles. "No matter. I'm sure that you'll quickly adjust to the change in the way you address me and the other members of staff. That is, if you are offered the position of course."

"Of course," I agree, but I notice the gleam in his eye.

I know that I'm the one he wants for the job, but I've got to keep that a secret for now.

"I think we're done here, Harry," Dumbledore says, and he flicks his hand politely in the direction of the door, which opens of its own accord. "Please, feel free to wander about the castle; when I need you all back to announce who shall be offered the position, I'll send out a Patronus."

"Thank you, Prof- er, Albus," I nod, and I make my way out of the office, down the spiralling staircase and back out into the corridor.

Rebekah and the other three applicants are waiting patiently.

"How did it go?" Rebekah says conversationally.

"Really well actually. I'm going to find Oliver now and have a walk around the castle with him and James Sirius. Did I tell you that we're expecting another baby?"

"Another one?" Rebekah squeals excitedly. "Looks like someone's going to be a proud father for the second time!"

"Oliver and I will probably need to think of names soon; we don't know how long this pregnancy will last, especially after James Sirius was born only two months after Oliver fell pregnant with him. Oliver's bump is already starting to show..."

"Mind if I walk with you?"

"Go right ahead. Actually, there's something I wanted to ask you," I say as we walk away from the great griffin.

I lead us in the direction of the Great Hall. Hopefully, Oliver might still be in there.

"The leader of the investigation from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement doesn't seem to be doing anything about the murders, and the Muggle Police Constable, Geller I think he said his name was, isn't exactly one of the most pleasant people to be around."

"What are you asking?"

"I'm asking whether you'll help Oliver and I look for clues around the castle and grounds that might give us some hints as to who killed Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood and Hannah Abbott and her friend."

"Going back to the old vigilante ways of justice, are you?" Rebekah winks. "Yeah, I can do that. It beats hanging around doing nothing every day. Seriously, have you any idea what it's like living without a job? It's hell..."

I chuckle as she gives a mock shudder.

"Where should we start? Hannah Abbott and her friend were murdered up in the Astronomy Tower; perhaps there?"

"Wherever," Rebekah says nonchalantly. "I have no idea where the murders happened; you're my guide. Wait, if the murders weren't that long ago, won't it still be a crime scene?"

"Guess we'll just have to find out," I say, pulling out my wand as we turn onto the corridor leading towards the Entrance Hall.

"What are you getting your wand out for?"

I don't answer, instead flourishing my wand and waiting silently for my Invisibility Cloak to drift through the open double doors, neither gas nor liquid, much like a ghost in the floodlit daytime.

"If there _is_ still an investigation going on," I explain. "We won't be seen because I'll have my Invisibility Cloak with me."

The doors to the Great Hall open and I smile as Oliver walks out, pushing James Sirius along in his pram.

"Hello, sweetheart," Oliver greets me with a gentle kiss. Then he notices Rebekah standing next to me. "It's been a long time, Rebekah! Did Harry tell you the good news?"

"He did," Rebekah says brightly. "Congratulations, _Mummy_!"

"Thank you. Where are you two heading now?"

"We're going to look for clues up in the Astronomy Tower to see who killed Hannah Abbott and her friend," Rebekah blurts.

"I'll come with you then," says Oliver. "Two heads might work better than one, but three heads are even better."

Together, we backtrack our steps from Dumbledore's office and head down the opposite direction of the corridor, following the familiar path of tapestries and suits of armour that we know lead to the Astronomy Tower.

"Get lost, Peeves!" I spit when the poltergeist fires a few sticks of chalk at us. "Where are you getting all this chalk from?"

"Harry?" Rebekah says anxiously, pointing tentatively towards the pieces of chalk on the floor. "It's not chalk..."

"What are you talking about?" I say confusedly.

Then I get a closer inspection of the 'chalk', and I realise with a hard wrench at my gut that it's anything but the writing apparatus used by teachers; blunt at either end and looking rather grotesque now that I can look at them, it dawns on me that what I'm actually looking at are fresh, bloody bones...


	15. The List

**Chapter Fifteen – The List**

Heart dropping through the floor and my breathing hitching to a level that I can no longer reach, I stare blankly at the gruesome chips in front of me, not a sound escaping from my mouth, which lolls open in an expression of stunned stupidity that only reverts back to normal when Oliver gives me a rather tap on the face.

"Harry?" he says worriedly. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

"There's been another murder..." I say lowly, and then my head snaps up to face Peeves who decides to carry on throwing more bits of bone at us, but I remain unfazed. "Peeves, where did you find those bones?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," Peeves mocks me.

I have no time for his games. Whipping my wand out of my pocket and jabbing it in his direction, I notice his eyes widen.

"I know a pretty handy spell that could evict you from the castle for good," I fabricate. "Tell me where you found them."

Peeves simply dangles in the air like a taunting silk sheet dressed in a red-and-green jester's suit, his eyes focussed solely upon me and looking rather concerned for his own wellbeing. I guess he doesn't know that I can't actually evict him from the castle.

"Charms corridor," he says in the same greasy voice I've heard all the times he's addressed the Bloody Baron and Dumbledore. "Someone in a black cloak. Looked strangely familiar, too. Something green on them..."

"Green?" I say confusedly. "What do you mean 'green'?"

"Robes? I don't know. All I saw was something green underneath the cloak."

"Something green?"

"What are you, an Auror? Potty Wee Potter is trying to show he can be a teacher! Tell you what, Potter; why don't you see the killer for yourself?"

"That's exactly what I was planning on doing," I say seriously, and I storm ahead without giving notice to Oliver and Rebekah.

They canter down the corridor after me as I target myself towards the Grand Staircase, primarily the third floor.

My feet slap off the stone staircase as I bustle past a few snoozing portraits, who take the time out of their day to snap angrily at me, but I don't care. These murders have gone far enough; I need to find out who's behind it all, and when I tear through a secret passageway leading from the first floor to the third, emerging directly in front of my old Charms classroom, my nostrils are immediately assaulted with the acrid stench of congealed blood and burnt flesh, but the sight that greets me is even worse.

Her torso shredded, one leg completely severed, the veins and arteries jutting out at odd angles and the bone shattered into a million fragments that are scattered throughout the corridor, the lifeless form of Professor McGonagall is spread-eagled in a horrific pose on the blood-stained floor.

Then it all makes sense. Nine days ago, I received a letter warning me of one life being taken each day. Nine days, nine lives. Professor McGonagall had nine days to live. How could I have not seen it? Her cat Animagus form should have been enough to remind me...

"Ollie... it's Professor McGonagall..." I sniff, tears welling behind my eyes.

Oliver knows what to do, having done it countless times before; he pulls me close and gives me the most loving kiss he can muster. Usually, I'd be in the mood for activities like this, but something clicks inside me and I'm filled with an intense resolve to not only catch the killer, but give them a taste of their own medicine.

I see something black flick out of sight at the end of the corridor, and I explode from Oliver's grasp so forcefully that he stumbles as I bullet past the mutilated corpse, the vast crimson pools flecking blood up my shoes and trousers.

"You're not getting away this time!" I scream, for I've seen the black-cloaked figure tumble out of sight through an almost-closed door.

It leads me into a dark corridor, and the only sources of sound and light are those coming from a few neglected, dusty portraits that hang alone on the walls.

"Who's there?!" one of them shrieks, but I'm too focussed on the sudden break of light as the killer flees through another door to pay any long span of attention.

I'm running faster than I've ever ran before, and by the time I reach the door leading out onto the viaduct, a rapid-flowing stream slapping the embankment beneath, Oliver and Rebekah have only just made it onto the corridor. James Sirius is still clattering along in his pram.

I don't want to risk him getting hurt, so I give my wand a quick flick, conjure a note which writes itself a message to my parents, and then, with a final flourish, the pram and parchment disappear, heading off to my parents' cottage.

"Ollie, stay back," I say without looking at him, branching an arm out behind me in a gesture of prevention.

I can see the killer running along the viaduct, but it's such a long way to the other tower that they have no chance of escaping.

"_Locomotor Mortis!_" I shout, and the killer topples over their knees.

They can't get away from me!

I blast out from the shade of the tower's spire and run pell-mell towards the crumpled form fifty yards away.

"_Finite Incantatem!_" I hear the killer shout, but they have no wand.

I've grown far too used to events like this happening; it's obvious to me that they have some freehand magic capabilities.

That is, until I see that the spell has actually had no effect.

I increase my speed, knowing that it's probably best to catch up to the killer as fast as I can before the spell wears off.

Their struggling is becoming desperate and unorthodox; using their hands, they try to drag their strangely small figure along the floor, but it's over.

I come to an abrupt halt next to the black bundle and give a harsh, frustrated kick. Then I hear what sounds awfully like a child simpering in pain, and when I kneel down and pull back the hood, I recoil in horror.

"Christopher?!" Oliver gasps, wheezing as he and Rebekah both come to a stop.

I tear open Christopher's cloak to see if his robes match Peeve's description of the killer, and I roar in anger when I see that he's wearing blue jean and a red t-shirt. There's concrete evidence that he's the killer, though; he's clutching a bloodstained knife and his hands and cheeks are dotted with red fluid.

"Why?" I say disgustedly. "Why kill all those people?"

"You think it was just me?" Christopher replies with a high-pitched laugh.

His voice is cold, unearthly and emotionless, as though he holds no remorse, no compassion for the killings that have taken place or the families that have been torn apart.

"You're stupider than you look, Potter-Wood! How could I, an insignificant little eleven year-old, possibly kill five people on my own?"

As he says this, he's pulling himself away from me, but Rebekah is wise to these types of tricks and grabs him by the collar. She yanks him to my feet.

"You think we're going to just let you jump off the viaduct?" she snarls. "I don't think so; you're paying the price for your crimes."

"Says the one who worked for Blue Swan," Christopher says snidely, and I notice something rather strange beneath his brown hairline; a glimmer of blond.

"Wait..." I say lowly, reaching out for the unusual strand.

My fingers slip completely between the blond and brown, and it's now that I realise he's actually wearing a wig.

"Ch-Charlie?!" Rebekah says in astonishment.

"Yes," he says. "Funny, isn't it? I saw all the death and destruction you caused and thought that you ought to pay the price. I wanted to break you down completely before landing the final blow, but I knew I couldn't do it on my own. So I wiped your memories while you were asleep one night and crept out of the tent. I went looking for someone who could help me. I found Monica and her family. They all think that I'm related to them. When I found them, I modified their memories so that they would think I'm part of their family. A clever disguise, hm?"

"You performed magic?" I say in shocked impression. "But you were only ten back then. How-?"

"I stole a wand from one of the Blue Swan agents in the Forbidden Forest," he says simply. "When people are busy defending themselves, it's amazing the amount of things you become free to do."

"Where did you learn the spells?"

"Hermione. Her books came in handy, not that she knew I had them."

"Tell us who helped you," I growl.

"Why should I? It's not as though you're going to kill me if I don't."

"He's right," Rebekah mutters so that only I can hear her. "If we take him to the Great Hall and call PC Geller, we can try to get him sent to Azkaban. If the Muggle police can't do that, we'll just have to make do with him just going to regular jail."

"Personally, I think I'd like to feed him to the Dementors in Azkaban," I growl through gritted teeth.

"Come on, sweetheart," Oliver says gently, noticing my expression adding violence into the mix of loathing and anger already there. "You don't want to go to prison for murder, either. Rebekah, bring Charlie down to the Great Hall."

I let myself be led away by Oliver's loving embrace as Rebekah tugs at the back Charlie's shirt.

In silence, we take the route back through the secret passageway from the third floor onto the first and make our way down the Grand Staircase, through the Entrance Hall and into the Great Hall.

"Surprise!"

I'm met with the raucous cheers of many of my friends and family. My mother and father, Aunt Petunia, Dudley, Hermione, Mr and Mrs Granger, Mrs Wood, Bridgett, Katie, Dean, Seamus and even Eddy and Dominic have shown up.

Red and gold streamers line all four walls and an arrangement of similarly-coloured balloons spell out an unexpected phrase at very far end of the room:

_Happy Birthday Harry_

I know instantly who was responsible for this, and I glance up at him with an amused, disbelieving shake of my head.

"You?"

Oliver nods with a proud smirk.

"You're incredible, you really are. I thought we'd agreed on no big party this year!"

"My Harry deserves as big a party as he can have, especially when he turns eighteen. I was already planning the party for your actual birthday, but when you said that you all you wanted was a family night in, I thought I'd rearrange to a time when you wouldn't be expecting it. Like today. The fact that your interview fell on the same day was just a lucky coincidence."

"James Sirius!" I say in realising, suddenly panicking. "Our little boy is at my parents' cottage all on his own! The poor thing! Someone needs to go-!"

"Harry, sweetheart, relax," Oliver calms me. "When James Sirius and that note disappeared, I sent a quick Patronus to your parents telling them to go and get him."

"He's right here Harry, don't worry," my mother says, pushing forward with James Sirius in his pram in front of her.

"Mama? Where Mama?"

"Mummy's right here, little James," Oliver says, picking our son out of the pram.

Then his expression turns suddenly solemn and serious.

"There's been another murder. Up on the third floor, you'll find another dead body. The dead body of the woman who practically raised me while I was at Hogwarts..."

My poor Oliver is breaking down in front of me and I've never seen him cry so much in just a few minutes; his eyes are red and swollen in no time. I walk up to him and he gazes at me, then I give him as tender a kiss as possible in a bid to comfort him.

Suddenly, the happy atmosphere in the Great Hall seems very subdued, replaced by nothing more than misery and depression.

"Professor Minerva McGonagall was an astounding woman who cared immensely for her students. It's her body that lays mangled on the Charms corridor, waiting to be scooped up like rubbish at the side of the road. This young boy," a sneer spreads across Oliver's face and pulls Charlie forward by the collar so forcefully that I hear the fibres in the fabric snap. "This young boy is responsible for her murder as well as the others'. But he is not alone in his actions; he has an accomplice. Katie, could I ask you to go and fetch PC Geller from Hogsmeade police station? He's got an arrest to make."

"Of course," Katie nods, her springy brown her bobbing on her shoulders as she paces from the Great Hall.

I hear a thump and Charlie collapses to the floor next to me.

"Just to be safe," Rebekah says, rubbing her knuckles. "If he moves, I'll knock him out again. You can count on me."

"It hardly seems like the right time for a party now..." my mother says quietly, staring down at Charlie's unconscious form. "Such a young boy... how could he have had the tenacity to kill so many people?"

"He wasn't alone," I say. "Someone was working with him, and Oliver and I are going to do all we can to work out who it was."

"There's something sticking out of his pocket," my father says pointedly.

I look down at Charlie and there's a small piece of parchment sticking out of the pocket of his jeans. I pluck it out carefully, and a photo, taken by a Polaroid camera judging by the shape and size, falls onto the floor face-down.

"What does it say?" Eddy says, stepping forward with a concerned expression and holding Dominic protectively.

"It looks like a list," I mumble.

On the front there are a few names that have been crossed out and I'm frightened to see that the list is rather extensive. What makes it worse is that each name that's been crossed out has a sickening note next to them.

_Hannah Abbott__ – Carved like a turkey__  
__Ronald Weasley  
Ginny Weasley  
Rebekah Kelly  
Bridgett Otero  
Ross Geller  
Katie Ellen__  
Annabelle Lennox__ - Perfect for vampirism  
Eddy Francis  
Sarah Hunter__  
Minerva McGonagall__ - Looks like this cat's nine lives are up  
Dominic Farnsworth  
Albus Dumbledore  
__Severus Snape__ - Chemistry sets aren't toys, you know?__  
Luna Lovegood__ - Cupid's arrow hit her hard  
Lily Potter  
James Potter__  
__Denise Wood__  
Neville Longbottom__ - Toad in the hole tastes great  
James Sirius Potter-Wood  
Dean Thomas  
Seamus Finnigan  
Arnold Granger  
Margaret Granger_

I try my hardest not to throw up from the sheer volume of would-be victims.

I see that there's something written on the back of the parchment and I give Oliver a scarce glance. There are two names written in huge, bold, capital letters, and I really should have expected this.

_HARRY POTTER-WOOD!  
OLIVER POTTER-WOOD!_

There are scribbles covering the entire back and our names look as though they've been written in such a fit of rage that they're barely legible.

"Sweetie, you and James Sirius are going to stay close to me at all times," I say matter-of-factly. "Our names are on this list."

"Wait a second..." Oliver says, taking the list from me. "Six names are crossed out, but we only know of five people that are dead. That means that there is still one murder we haven't discovered."

"Who?"

"Professor Snape," Oliver says, barely audible over the nervous chattering of the crowd. "_Chemistry sets aren't toys... _We need to get down to the dungeons _now_."

"Wait, what's this photo?" my mother says inquisitively, and she picks up the facedown photograph. "It's Charlie with a black-haired woman and a girl with streaky hair."

"That's Monica and Amy, his fake family that have no idea he isn't related to them. He wiped their memories and replaced them with ones of his creation."

"At the young age of eleven?!" James says loudly.

"Yes. We need to go."

I take Oliver's hand and pull him back out of the Great Hall, Rebekah following closely behind.

"Stay close, baby," I murmur. "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you, the baby or James Sirius."

We creep in silence across the empty Entrance Hall and I wonder where Dumbledore could be after all this time. The interviews can't be taking this long, surely.

Down the several flights of steps to the dungeons we go, the sinisterly subtle flicker of the torches on the wall casting eerie, misshapen shadows along the grimy walls.

"Do you smell that?" Oliver says quietly. "Smells like..."

"Sulphur," I finish, pointing to a river of luminous green fluid that's coming from beneath the door to Snape's dungeon.

Bile rises in my throat as I inadvertently inhale the noxious scent, and Oliver and Rebekah tail me closely as I cautiously push open the steel door.

The classroom doesn't look any different to what one would expect; the walls are still painted in a blinding array of colours and the tables and chairs are lethal on the eyes. Snape's desk looks just as organised as always. It's easy to misconstrue murder scenes, though; I've had far too much experience in that area.

I look for the most inconspicuous place, and as I wander around the room, my hands stuck out to the side and probing for potential clues, the smell of rotten eggs intensifies fivefold.

In a fountain of vomit that covers the whole of a nearby table, my nerves get the better of me.

"Harry!" Oliver worries. "Sweetheart, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I gulp, falling back against a phial rack and swallowing the acidic remnants.

The sound of smashing glass accompanies my momentary weakness, and after I've regained stamina, I surmise that the smell is coming from a locked storage cupboard.

"Cover your noses," Oliver says.

We lift our shirts over our noses and I prepare to unlock the door. There's still a key in the lock. I grab it, twist it and sigh in relief when it clicks open; if a dead body was in there, it would have fallen out as soon as the pressure caused by the lock was gone.

"Nothing in here but- OH SHIT!"

Oliver nearly jumps out of skin from the most gruesome sight we've ever seen; Snape's _body_ might not be in the cupboard, but his head is.

Eyes gouged out, cheeks stripped of flesh, hair knotted and matted with blood, and a phial of acid slowly dissolving his skull, this is the worst thing I've had the misfortune to lay eyes upon, and I spew another batch of vomit all over the floor before finally having enough.

I dash from the room, Rebekah staring in horror at the disembodied head. Oliver runs after me as we ascend the steps away from that hellish place.

As we dash across the Entrance Hall, heading back to the Great Hall, the double front doors open and PC Geller, flanked by an entire investigation team, strides up to me as though he owns the place.

"Where's the body?" he demands.

Rebekah clatters into the Entrance Hall looking as green as the fluid on the dungeon floor.

"Third floor," I say, gasping at the fresh air that blows into the open castle. "The killer's in the Great Hall and there's a head back down there in the dungeons. Geller, there's more than one killer..."

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

Charlie explodes out of the Great Hall and I see two people crumple to the floor, then I feel something stab at my palm and I realise that I'm still holding the sheaf of parchment. I unfold it instinctively and then my heart plummets. Two more names have been scratched out.

_Hannah Abbott__ – Carved like a turkey__  
__Ronald Weasley  
Ginny Weasley  
Rebekah Kelly  
Bridgett Otero  
Ross Geller  
Katie Ellen__  
Annabelle Lennox__ - Perfect for vampirism  
Eddy Francis  
Sarah Hunter__  
Minerva McGonagall__ - Looks like this cat's nine lives are up  
Dominic Farnsworth  
Albus Dumbledore  
__Severus Snape__ - Chemistry sets aren't toys, you know?__  
Luna Lovegood__ - Cupid's arrow hit her hard  
Lily Potter  
James Potter__  
__Denise Wood__  
Neville Longbottom__ - Toad in the hole tastes great  
James Sirius Potter-Wood  
__Dean Thomas__ - Boyfriend lived; must be the luck of the Irish__  
Seamus Finnigan__ – Looks like the luck of the Irish wore off  
Arnold Granger  
Margaret Granger_

I say nothing, thrusting the note into PC Geller's hand.

"He's not getting away this time," I growl, and before Oliver can stop me, I bolt from where we stand.

"Harry!" Rebekah shouts.

Oliver runs after me, Rebekah follows, and then almost the whole party runs out of the Great Hall in a haphazard procession as we chase Charlie back through the route we took to get to the viaduct.

Many of the people in the mob scream when they see McGonagall's body, but PC Geller and his investigation quickly take them away from the scene.

"Half of you stay here, the other half go down to the dungeons," I hear him order the investigators, but his voice gets cut off by the closing door as we hurtle back along the three-hundred-foot-high bridge.

"Charlie, stop!" I shout, and he does as I say.

He's not doing it because I've asked him to, though; he perches himself precariously on the very edge of the viaduct, staring down into the great, black abyss that could make even a giant feel inferior.

An almighty gust of wind rustles everybody's hair, but Oliver, Rebekah and myself display a fierce resolve to see Charlie put away. I glance back expecting my parents to be there, but I know that they are far too responsible with mine and Oliver's son to charge into a situation where they're in grave danger.

"You wanted me to stop, Potter," Charlie pants. "Here you go, I've stopped."

"Whose wand are you holding?" I bark. "I want to know whose wand you used to kill more people!"

He leers at me with a very cunning, very devious grin that makes me want to punch him, then his expression changes to one of perfect innocence.

Smiling as though he's done nothing wrong, he says, quite brightly, "My mother, of course."

Then he jumps, and I roar with rage as he falls like a ragdoll into the gaping mouth of the hungry beast below.


	16. Too Young to Know

**Chapter Sixteen – Too Young to Know**

I burst through the doors to the Great Hall like a stampeding rhino and I startle the party guests to such a degree that many of them scream in fright.

"Geller!" I bellow, foregoing the use of his professional title. "Get your little army of useless, so-called investigators down to the bottom of the viaduct! Inspect his body and-!"

"Excuse me!" Geller barks. "I'll do _my_ job in my own way, thank you very much, Mr Potter!"

"IT'S POTTER-WOOD!" I scream, causing most of the party to hurry out of the door.

The dead bodies of Seamus and Dean are sprawled on the floor and I'd usually be so full of grief right now. But there's nothing inside me right now. I don't know if it's because I'm mourning the loss of two more of my friends or whether it's because my rage is so absolute that I'm completely numb.

"Harry, sweetheart, please calm down," Oliver begs me, and the icy glare I've been shooting at the incompetent police officer defrosts instantly when I gaze at the man I adore to death. "Honey, you're frightening me..."

Oliver's pleading stare and James Sirius' disturbed cries bring me back round.

"I'm sorry, baby," I say lowly, pulling my husband into a loving embrace and placing a few gentle kisses to his forehead. "The last thing I'd want to do is frighten you."

"James Sirius..." Oliver murmurs.

I take a wailing James Sirius out of his pram and cradle him. After a few minutes of slow rocking, his cries have diminished to minute sobs and he's gazing up at me with his beautiful, wet, hazel eyes.

"You look just like your mother..." I croon.

"Lub 'oo, Dada," James Sirius says cutely. "This home soon?"

"Merlin's beard, what is going on here?!" Dumbledore says hurriedly as he rushes into the Great Hall, pushing past the investigation team with far more force than you'd expect an old man to have.

"Multiple murders, Albus," I say despondently. "Minerva, Severus, Dean and Seamus... all gone."

The elder wizard's face assumes an expression of deepest remorse and pain, and he stays deathly silent for a few minutes before saying, in a voice that mirrored his outer anguish, he says, "Do you know who did it?"

"Charlie. Do you remember the little boy that Rebekah and Dominic – that's Sparrow and Hawk – brought when we were attacked in the Forbidden Forest?"

I tell Dumbledore of Charlie's plan. Of how he wiped our memories before slipping away seamlessly. Of how he managed to brainwash Monica and her family into thinking that he was one of their own.

"He has quite remarkable skills for an eleven year-old, I must say," Dumbledore says, his tone of voice being one of guilty impression.

"_Had_," I correct him. "We cornered him on the viaduct but he jumped. PC Geller here was just about to send him investigation out to retrieve the body. Charlie had a rather important piece of evidence on him when he jumped..."

Dumbledore flashes Geller a questioning glance, clearly bemused as to why the officer is still in the castle when there's a corpse outside.

"Well? Shouldn't you be going?" Dumbledore spits, and it surprises me to see that the police officer actually gets to work.

Then, when PC Geller has left the Great Hall, Dumbledore continues, "I've finished conducting the interviews, but it hardly seems like the right time to announce who will be getting the teaching position."

He notices mine and Rebekah's downtrodden looks, then says, "However, contracts of employment must be signed by the end of today and it looks as though I'll be needing two extra employees after the loss of Professors McGonagall and Snape. Rebekah, you are most suited to be a Potions teacher, so I would like to offer you that position. Do you accept?"

"Yes!" Rebekah says immediately. "Potions, eh? Should be interesting."

"You should count yourself lucky, Rebekah; you would have went away from today without employment if it weren't for these events. And Harry, I thought that despite your experience in Defence Against the Dark Arts, you didn't quite meet the standards that one of the other applicants, Taryn Holliday, set. She will be getting the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"Oh..." I say glumly.

"Not to worry, not to worry," he says quickly. "I realised that we still had another teaching position open, so my first thought was to offer you that since you were better qualified and experienced for that job. Your past ability to control the four elements came under the subject of Transfiguration, you know? It's clear to me that you will still have a very good grasp of what it takes to truly Transfigure objects, so I'd like to take this opportunity to offer you the chance to be a Transfiguration teacher. Is this something you're interested in?"

I'm stunned. I would have loved to have been a Transfiguration teacher before this whole mess, even more than how much I wanted to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts.

As much as I want to accept, I can't help but feel as though I'd be jumping into Minerva's grave if I did; she hasn't even been dead for an hour and I'd already be taking her place.

Oliver is already devastated that his greatest role model from his time at Hogwarts is gone, and I don't want to dishonour her memory in such as way as taking the job that was rightfully hers.

My Oliver, my wonderful, amazing Oliver, reads my conflicted expression and knows instantly what it is that's bothering me.

"Honey, if you want to accept the job, do it," he pats me reassuringly on the back. "She'd want you to do well in life and I'm sure she'd be delighted to know that one of her favourite students has gone on to replace her."

"I-I was one of her favourite students?"

"Yes, you were," Albus confirms. "She was always worried for your safety. Have you never wondered why she was so harsh on you when you endangered your own life, whereas she would simply deduct a few house points from others and be done with the matter? Harry, she cared immensely for you, just as she did for your mother and father. She would be so proud to know that you had gone on to replace her; she often said that she could think of nobody better for the job. So... will you accept my offer?"

I take another few minutes to rationalise the final few thoughts of guilt going through my head. Then I decide on which direction to move my life in, announcing, "Yes. I accept your offer, Prof- er, Albus."

"Great!" Dumbledore says cheerily. "Now, I know that it's been a very stressful day for all of you," he nods not just to myself, Oliver, Rebekah and my parents, but Katie, Bridgett and the others as well. "But I need to bother you for just a few minutes more so that we can get your contracts signed. Taryn has already signed hers."

He pulls out from his robes two very thick, very heavy contracts and gives them to us. He gives us the necessary details such as wages, benefits, duties and, as I notice at the very bottom of my contract, maternity leave details. It seems that my ability to get pregnant hasn't been overlooked...

Then my mind clicks and I'm quick to enquire about my former best friend's employment at the school.

"I'm afraid Mr Weasley failed to show up for his interview," Dumbledore says disapprovingly. "It was foolish of me to think about employing him in the first place; his criminal record would have prevented me from doing so anyway."

"So he's not going to work here?" Oliver says, looking for both clarification and closure.

"No. I'm afraid that his little attack on Miss Granger here was a very bad move."

"He attacked our son as well, don't forget," I say darkly. "I'll never forgive him for that..."

"Speaking of James Sirius, he seems rather quiet," says Oliver.

"Don't worry, baby, he's fast asleep. Albus, what are we going to do about Dean and Seamus' bodies?"

"First, you let my officers and myself investigate the scene here," PC Geller huffs angrily. "You've interfered enough, _Potter-Wood_! Leave it to the people who know what they're doing."

"I will when I find them," I reply wryly.

"That's enough out of-"

"_Expelliarmus_," Dumbledore says calmly, and the gun that Geller draws flies into the air, spirals a few times and then lands with a clatter twenty feet away.

"PC Geller, refrain from attacking my members of staff or I'll be forced to issue a complaint with the Independent Police Complaints Commission. Harry, I'm afraid I can't allow you to involve yourself any further in these murders; you have a family to look after and risking time in prison, or even your life, isn't the smartest idea. We'll have police and Aurors alike patrolling the castle starting from next month so you should have all the protection you need."

"What about our living quarters? When are we moving in?" I ask.

"Two days before the start of term, which is the seventh of September. I'll have House Elves comes and collect your belongings on the fifth and bring them here. Harry, Oliver, I know that you have a House Elf. I highly recommend that you bring him here to work for the school. He'll still be at your beck-and-call but he'll also be helping the other House Elves. Is this fine with you?"

"It depends on when the House Elf Olympics finish," I say unsurely. "We've told Dobby-"

"Harry Potter-Wood requires Dobby's assistance?" the House Elf appears with a crack, looking just as lively and happy as ever.

"Hello, Dobby!" I say delightedly, but not so boisterously that James Sirius wakes up. "Are the House Elf Olympics finished?"

"Yes, sir! They ended this morning, sir! Dobby is ready to come back to work!"

"Good. Listen Dobby, we'll be moving into Hogwarts soon. Would you work for the school as well as us?"

"I can offer you payment, if that's what you wish," Dumbledore compromises.

"Dobby will do it for free! Dobby is pleased to do what Harry and Oliver Potter-Wood ask of him!"

"Thank you, Dobby. Go home and get some rest; you look exhausted," Oliver says concernedly. "We'll be home soon."

"Y-Yes, sir!"

With another loud crack, Dobby vanishes.

"We really should be going," I say to Albus, who nods in understanding.

I place James Sirius into his pram, bidding my mother and father goodbye with a hug and pecking both of Rebekah and Hermione's cheeks.

"Come on, Ollie, let's go home. I've had a really trying day and I just want to spend some time with my adoring family."

"Okay," Oliver says weakly, and there are a couple of dark bags under his eyes that make me think his pregnancy is causing fatigue.

"Potter-Wood," Geller calls as we walk out of the double doors to the Entrance Hall. "You stay clear of this investigation, you hear?"

"Are you okay, baby?" I say with a voice full of worry as Oliver and I step over the threshold into our cottage, James Sirius snoozing angelically in his pram.

"Yeah honey, I'm fine," Oliver smiles meekly. "I just feel a little... a little..."

His eyes roll into the back of his head and he flops backwards, but I've seen this happen before so I know not to worry.

"Easy does it, big guy," I grunt, catching him mid-fall. "It's just the baby."

"H... Har... Harry..." he mumbles. "Water..."

I take him into my arms in a bridal lift and carry him through to the living room, where I lower him onto the sofa. I kneel beside him and take his hand.

"You just lay here and rest while I grab you a drink and something to eat. You look knackered, baby."

I kiss his forehead and stroke his cheek. Then I go back into the hallway and take James Sirius into the kitchen with me.

"Mama ill?" James Sirius wonders.

"No, Mama's fine, little James. Your little brother or sister is on the way and it's just making him feel a little bit tired. But that's okay, because you get spend time with Daddy!"

"Yay!" James Sirius squeaks, and I smirk to myself at his excitement. "Lub 'oo, Dada!"

"Love you too, James."

I fill up a glass with tap water and then take it into the living room along with James Sirius and his pram.

"You're looking a lot better already, Ollie," I say brightly, glancing at my husband's suddenly colourful face.

Yet despite his healthy complexion his eyes are still drooping, and the only parts I can see are the bloodshot whites surrounding his pupils.

"Here, drink this."

I perch the glass on Oliver's lips and tip it slightly.

He accepts the cool liquid gratefully as I sweep a hand through his sweaty hair.

"This baby's really taking it out of you," I say concernedly. "Should I get in touch with Midwitch Jones?"

At that moment, a screeching sound emanates from the hallway and the jet-like figure of Zeus zooms into the room, landing gracefully on the table with a letter clutched in his beak.

"Speak of the devil," I say.

Something clicks inside me and the guilt I feel is so self-destroying, so confidence-eliminating that I consider smacking my head off the wall in an attempt to punish myself.

"Ollie, we forgot about the hologram! How could we forget?! I'm a terrible father! I don't deserve to have this baby with you!"

"Honey, please! Everything's fine. I contacted Midwitch Jones the other day telling her that I wasn't feeling myself so we wouldn't be able to attend. That letter is probably telling us when the date of our next appointment is."

"You-You cancelled? Without telling me?" I say, feeling incredibly disappointed and hurt. "Why?"

"I didn't want you to worry about me," Oliver says shamefully, seeing the sudden shine of sadness in my eyes. "I know, that was the wrong thing for me to do..."

"Yes, it was," I say grumpily, and for the first time since being with him I can't stand looking at his face. "I'm going upstairs."

Leaving him in the living room with James Sirius, I stalk into the hallway, up the stairs and into the bedroom, the door of which I slam violently, completely on purpose.

The last thing I catch before the sound is drowned out is Oliver's beseeching cry of, "Harry please, come back!"

I sit myself on the bed with my back against the wall and my face in my knees, letting a few solitary tears drip down onto the covers. How could he not tell me something like this? I was worried out of my mind and even questioned my parenting skills...

"Harry?" Oliver whispers through the door.

"Go away..." I mumble.

"Snitchy, I'm begging you..." I hear a sniff come from the landing, and I realise that he's crying. "Please honey, open the door."

"Dada? Want see Dada," James Sirius says innocently, and my heart wrenches itself.

I can't ignore my son, by any means.

So I get off the bed, wiping a few tears away from my cheeks, and open the door to see a teary Oliver carrying an oblivious James Sirius.

"Honey, I'm sorry..."

"Save it," I say flatly. "What's done is done."

It's killing me to talk to him like this...

"Dada, why you mean to Mama? Give Mama hug."

Is that really how my son sees my treatment of Oliver? I must look like a monster to him...

"Harry..."

I look down at James Sirius. He's giving me a rather reproving stare; Hermione would be proud.

Then I fix my gaze on Oliver.

"I know you probably hate me right now, but-"

"I don't hate you," I say plainly. "I could never hate you. I'm just... hurt, disappointed... You should have told me, baby..."

"I know," Oliver says sadly. "And I really am sorry. Can you forgive me?"

I say nothing.

Speaking louder with actions, I sit James Sirius on the bed and walk over to Oliver, giving him a gentle kiss on the lips and wrapping myself around his torso.

"It's impossible to be mad at you for long," I sigh. "I love you, Ollie..."

"I love you too, honey."

"Friends again?" says James Sirius.

"Yes, we're friends again," I chuckle, and then Oliver gasps.

"James Sirius, you clever boy! Harry, look!"

I turn around to see what all the commotion is about, and I see that James Sirius isn't sitting up as he should be; he's standing in the centre of the mattress, completely unsupported by anything other than his legs.

James Sirius looks at us completely unaware of the significance of this moment, and any remaining anger I had is now completely gone.

He stumbles a little bit where he stands so I run over to the bed and hold him steady before he has a chance to fall and hurt himself.

"My boy is a genius!" I exclaim, peppering James Sirius' forehead with kisses.

Oliver takes James Sirius out of my arms and spins around with him, beaming endlessly.

"Mummy and Daddy love you, you special little boy!"

James Sirius can't stop grinning at us and his delighted squawks fill the entire cottage with a joyous atmosphere that overshadows the misery of the day so far.

"I think someone's tired..." Oliver notes when our son gives a long yawn. "Time for bed, little James. It's no surprise, either; nine o'clock and he still isn't in bed."

Oliver takes James Sirius over to his cot and makes sure that the thin mattress is comfortable before placing him down and kissing his forehead one final time.

I look down upon my little boy with the loving gaze a parent should have, and then I, too, kiss his forehead before whispering, "Goodnight, my little angel."

I then pull the covers over his small body and tuck him in.

"Look at him," Oliver whispers. "Such a beautiful little boy..."

"He gets it from his mother," I wink. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Oliver says, sitting down on the bed. "Harry, I really am sorry for what I did..."

"I know you are, baby," I say, perching myself behind him and massaging his shoulders. "Please Ollie, let it go. I love you too much to let something silly like that get between us. I was stupid to get worked up like that..."

"I love you, Harry," Oliver tells me, turning round and pushing me until I fall onto the soft sheets.

He clambers on top of me, straddling my waist.

"I love you too, sweetie," I reply with just as much meaning as I did nearly a year ago.

Which reminds me...

"You know, Ollie... It'll be our first anniversary on the seventh of September... We'll have to make special plans..."

"I'm already ahead of you," Oliver says enigmatically.

"What have you got-?"

"I'm not telling you," he says with a naughty smirk. "You'll just have to wait and see."

He leans down towards my neck and gives the skin a subtle kiss, then flicks his tongue over the surface. I shudder in anticipation of what I know he wants.

"If you want to make love, all you have to do is ask me," I murmur, returning the gesture.

"Okay... Can we make love?"

"There's no need to ask," I say cheekily, and he gives me a look of mock annoyance.

"No foreplay tonight, honey..." he says lowly. "I'm feeling a little tired. What say we just go straight for the anal?"

"I say strip, get on your back and open your legs. Daddy's going in..."

Oliver grins down at me and then rolls off of me, slipping his trousers and pants down his legs and lifting his shirt off of his torso, where I see that the baby bump has increased in size and seems to be more defined than it was when Oliver was pregnant with James Sirius.

"Baby's coming along nicely," I comment as I remove my clothes until I'm just as naked as my dear Ollie is.

"Feels quite packed compared to when I was pregnant with James," Oliver says, giving his stomach a humorously mystified glance.

Then he looks at me and notices the hungry glint in my eyes.

I've seen him in the buff countless times, but that doesn't change the fact that I still think of him as being the most beautiful thing to grace the surface of the earth. From his perfectly bronze skin and muscle-bolstered legs to his loving and caring personality, every part of me yearns to feel him writhing beneath my ministrations, and in a matter of seconds I've managed to split his legs so that I can have easy access to his gateway to heaven.

I take my wand and lube him up, then I apply some of the jelly-like substance to my throbbing length. Due to Oliver being pregnant already, there is no need for me to Sterilise myself.

"You ready, baby?"

"I'm always ready," Oliver whispers huskily, draping his arms around my neck, pulling me down until our lips meet and snapping his legs shut around my middle.

My dick is pulsing against the outer ring of his hole and I decide to take the time now to tease him. He'd be wrong for thinking that I was just going to plunge straight in without a tiny bit of fun beforehand...

I give a very small push so that only the tip slips inside, and I realise that my plans to tease him are completely shattered; I can't resist the urge to dive into his warm cavern and I take great pleasure in the walls of his arse hugging my slender appendage as I delve into his silky smooth depths, all while savouring his gratified moans when that familiar, walnut-sized bump taps against me.

"Honey... I love you..."

"I love you too, Ollie," I say through teeth gritted in pleasure.

I pull out slowly, very slowly and when I feel his body quaking with desire, his breathing hoarse, I slam back inside, hitting over the delicious spot at his core.

"That's my Harry!" he groans loudly.

He drops his arms to the side and scrabbles at the bed sheets as I make my presence known, thrusting quickly then steadily and quickly again until calls of my name fill the room.

Even though we haven't had any build-up to this, it isn't long before I can feel myself growing close. I must be really horny to get this close to having an orgasm in such a short space of time...

"Come on, Harry, give it some more oomph," Oliver commands sexily. "Let me feel all of that-"

"Dada, are you and Mama fighting again?"


	17. Dinner Date from Hell

**Chapter Seventeen – Dinner Date from Hell**

"Dada, why were you and Mama fighting?" James Sirius asks me for the seventh time this morning.

"Mummy and Daddy weren't fighting," Oliver explains to him, again for the seventh time.

Our little boy remains quiet while Oliver spoons a bit of fruity paste into his mouth.

"That's what Mummy and Daddy do when they want to show that they love each other."

"It looked owwie..."

"Don't you worry, little James, Daddy wasn't hurting Mummy," I assure him.

"Do you need a hand with the breakfast, sweetheart?" Oliver offers.

I'm stood at the oven cooking bacon and eggs for myself and Oliver while James Sirius has his breakfast.

He's growing so fast. His teething stage has stopped hurting already and I know that it won't be long before we can try him on solid foods.

"No thanks, Ollie," I say politely. "It's almost done, anyway. Do you want brown or red sauce?"

"Neither," he says with a grimace. "I don't think this baby likes sauce. To be honest, I don't really feel like eating bacon _or_ eggs..."

"That's okay," I say lightly. "I'll just give it to Snuffles. Snuffles? Come here, boy!"

The rapid pitter-patter of dog feet rumbles across the ceiling as the Crup bounds down from our bedroom, having decided to make the cosy corner his new personal space. Oliver and I simply let him have his own way; he wouldn't settle anywhere else once he'd claimed his spot.

A few seconds later, Snuffles yaps happily as he canters into the kitchen, where he immediately crawls on all fours towards his bowl like a cat ready to pounce. We've never seen him do this before, so it's a very odd yet amusing sight.

"Here you go," I say, tipping the cooked food into Snuffles' bowl. "Is there anything else you want cooking, baby?"

"I'll just do it myself," Oliver says, putting the spoon back into the now-empty jar of baby paste. "I don't want to be a fuss just because I'm pregnant."

"But I _want_ to fuss over you," I say, laying down my plate of breakfast and then hanging my arms loosely around his neck.

I place a kiss to his cheek.

"I love you, Ollie."

"I love you too, Snitchy."

"Lub 'oo, Mama! Lub 'oo, Dada!"

We give James Sirius warm smiles and return the sentiment.

"So, what would you like?"

"You..." Oliver says breathily.

"Tonight," I say. "When we get back from Monica's house, I'm going to make you scream my name..."

"I can't wait," Oliver says, stealing a cheeky kiss from my lips.

"Ewwww! Yucky!"

"Now, when's our next appointment to see Midwitch Jones?"

"From the letter we got yesterday, next Wednesday. Not a problem, is it?"

"No problem at all."

"Sweetheart?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"I really am sorry about not telling you I cancelled. I just didn't want you to worry-"

"It's in the past, Ollie. I'm over it and I was stupid to get so upset over something as insignificant as that. Look at me," I grab his chin and tilt his face towards me. "Nothing, _nothing_ is bad enough to make me stop loving you. You're my Ollie, remember? My Keeper, my husband, my _soul mate_? Come on now, it's pointless to dwell on it; where is it going to get us?"

"I suppose you're right."

Oliver gives me a long, loving gaze and pulls me into a deep and passionate kiss.

"So you still want to Consummate our Bonding?"

"Of course I do. I love you, Oliver Potter-Wood."

"I love you too, Harry James Potter-Wood. My Snitchy, the love of my life, my wonderful, caring husband, starting a relationship with you was the best decision I've ever made."

"Me too," I say with a consuming sense of pride. "Now, what would you like for your breakfast?"

"Ice lollies are really all I can tolerate right now. One of the grape ones, I guess. Sorry for being awkward..."

"Don't be," I say comfortingly, walking over to the freezer and withdrawing the almost-empty box of ice lollies.

I pluck out a grape-flavoured one.

"Your body is still adjusting to the pregnancy, so your cravings are going to be out of control for the meantime. If ever you crave something, just let me know and I'll get it for you as soon as I can, sweetie. Looks like we'll be needing another box of ice lollies soon, too."

I hand the ice lolly over to Oliver, and his eyes roll back into his head in pleasure as he sucks genially on the refreshment.

"Wish this ice lolly was something else..." he mumbles, and I blush heavily. "But it'll do me fine until tonight, I suppose."

"Well, if you're _that_ desperate to make love, we could wait for James Sirius to take his nap before we go off to Monica's for dinner. I'm feeling a little frisky myself..."

"What time are we going, anyway?"

A screech from outside startles the very skin off my bones and when I spot the gleaming onyx bullet that is Zeus soaring into the kitchen, an envelope clutched in his beak, I get the feeling that I already know who it's from and what it's about.

Just as I anticipated, Zeus drops the brownish piece of paper mid-flight and continues to fly around the kitchen a few times before sailing up to his perch hanging in the ceiling.

Having caught it with minor ease, I tear open the letter and quickly scan its contents.

_Be at my house for eight o'clock.  
Monica_

"Just as I suspected," I say, putting the note down on the table. "It's from Monica."

"What time?"

"Eight o'clock tonight. That gives us more than enough time to get James Sirius off to sleep, which also means that we'll have plenty of time to make love..."

"I like the sound of that. I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you too, baby," I reply, placing a delicate kiss to his cheek.

"Mama and Dada are icky!" James Sirius says cutely, and Oliver and I simply hold each other as our son goes off on his own adorable little tirade.

"I wonder if he can walk yet..." Oliver mutters in my ear, and it gives me a sudden surge of inspiration.

"James Sirius?" I break through his amusing rant.

Our little boy stares at me and I'm struck by just how much he really does look like Oliver. It astonishes me that with every passing day his cheeks and facial features become more like Oliver than myself, and the only pieces of me I can see in him are his fluffy, jet-black hair and slowly-diminishing button nose. Even his eyes are wholly his mother's...

"Would you like to go for a walk with Mummy and Daddy?"

I watch in awe as James Sirius grips the edges of his chair for support and then pushes himself off, landing squarely and stably on his feet. My first reaction (and Oliver's, too) is to immediately crouch directly in front of him so that he doesn't hurt himself if he falls, although it seems that this approach is rather useless when you consider the fact that James Sirius is able to walk perfectly, with only a few insignificant stumbles.

"I'm still not sure..." Oliver says sceptically. "What if he falls over while we're walking?"

"Then he'll have his doting mother there to kiss his cuts better."

"I don't want to have to kiss his cuts better, though. I don't want my precious angel to get hurt..."

"Baby, it's just the way of life. If he doesn't fall over, how is he going to learn to keep himself stable?"

I grab Oliver and embrace him, hearing a small sniff as he rests his head on my shoulder.

"Hey now, what's wrong?"

"It's just that... It's just that I'd do anything to keep our little boy safe. I don't want him to hurt himself..."

"Ollie, nobody wants to see their child hurt," I say gently. "But like I said, it's just a basic fact of life that kids are going to end up hurting themselves in one way or another. It's how they learn. I know how you feel, sweetie, I really do, but we can't wrap him in cotton wool for the rest of his life. It's not good for him..."

"You're right..." Oliver murmurs, and I feel a cold wetness on my shirt as he lifts his head away from me.

He's crying.

"There..." I say soothingly, stroking his back and wiping away a few tears from his cheeks. "I love you, Ollie."

He takes a hold of my face and twists me round until I'm laying on the kitchen floor.

Then he straddles my waist and I become aware of a particular pole jabbing at my crotch.

"Snitchy, I want to make love..."

"James Sirius, do you want to go on a walk with Mummy and Daddy?"

I want to make sure that James Sirius comes before my own needs. All I get in reply from him is a yawn.

It doesn't surprise me; we couldn't get him to sleep for three hours after he caught us making love last night, and it was then that he bothered us with most of his repeated questions as to what we were doing.

"He must still be tired. Better get him to sleep before we go to dinner tonight; we don't want him falling asleep in his high chair."

"We'll have to buy a bed for him soon, too," Oliver informs me. "He seems like he's been developing a lot faster than normal lately..."

I pick a groggy James Sirius up just as he falls to the floor and carry him upstairs, where I place him gently into his cot while Oliver makes sure that he's tucked in comfortably.

"Sleep well, Mummy's little angel..."

"Have a good rest, son."

We leave petite kisses on his forehead and then turn to each other.

"We could make love in here with Soundproofing Charms in place, but that won't stop James Sirius from seeing us if he wakes up," Oliver says.

"I've always wanted to have a go on the sofa, anyway..."

"Really? Then I guess that's where our fun's going to start..."

He takes my hand and leads me down the stairs into the suddenly-dark living room, having flicked his wand in the hallway to make the curtains drop.

I strip off my clothes immediately, not wanting to waste time having to slowly undress each other, and I pose as seductively as I can on the black leather sofa with my legs cross at just the right angle so that Oliver can see the base my pubic area and nothing lower.

"You're such a tease," he smirks. "I'll be tasting that cock of yours before long..."

"I count on it," I respond. "Now come here and give me some sugar..."

Oliver stalks over to me like a panther, and he pounces with such a velocity that the sofa threatens to tip over when he lands on top of me.

"Whoa there, hot stuff," I say, alarmed at the violent shudder of the furniture.

Watching my husband strip for me is much like a personal lap dancer, except it's free and I know the painful erection that arises is actually going to be put to use instead of having to deflate, which would also have the unfortunate effect of making my already-blue balls even bluer.

"You like what you see, sweetheart?" Oliver says flirtatiously as he slips his fingers into the waistband of his tight boxer shorts, and it drives me crazy.

I crave him, long to feel his weight on top of me, to feel him grinding up against my being, to feel every part of his silky core hugging my pulsating length on our journey to climax.

In an agonisingly slow motion that makes my whole body ache with desperate need, Oliver reveals the very slight dusting of hair just below his pelvis, and when I see the base of his shaft my body gives a very sudden, very sharp jolt, for my attraction to him remains just as bold as our love even after eleven months of passionate and meaningful sex.

"Don't just like what I see... I love it..." I murmur. "And that's before I've even started on your body..."

"I love you, Snitchy," Oliver whispers, drawing his face as close to mine as possible. "I need to feel you inside me..."

"Suck me off and I'll give you the reward you want..."

I open my legs and pull myself up from the lying position I was in, with my member jutting out proudly. Oliver's eyes widen at the sight of a single, pearly drop trickling from the end.

"You haven't even touched me and I'm already leaking..."

"You won't go untouched for long, my love..."

I'm about to ask what he means, but when he pushes his underwear quickly down the rest of his body, letting his rock-hard dick spring to freedom, he clamps his lips to mine, delivering a fiery kiss that I never want to break.

His lower body follows suit and it feels as though someone has struck a match in between my legs; his crotch connects with mine, and I see that a substantial amount of precum is flowing from behind his foreskin.

"If you don't suck me off, I'm going to suck you off," I wheeze. "You look far too delicious to pass up..."

"Someone's certainly assertive," Oliver winks, kissing down my face, neck and chest as I arch myself into him.

He flicks his tongue over each of my erect nipples, alternating every once in a while, and worries them in between his teeth as he makes long, sweeping strokes up my abs with his firm hands.

I'm on fire, completely unable to control the burning passion raging throughout my body, and when Oliver, my precious, amazing Oliver finally ends his onslaught of tongue, I get a brief amount of time to regain my breath.

"Love... you..." I pant. "If you just want to head straight into sex, I understand..."

"No, sweetheart, I want you to enjoy this..."

My respite is over and my breathing goes back to being dangerously ragged, for he takes a rather short, rather fast dive and completely engulfs the whole of my engorged length.

The head traverses his tongue, brushes against the ridged roof and then it slips, quite smoothly, into the wet shaft at the back of his mouth, where his tamed muscles contract and relax rhythmically.

I buck unexpectedly into his hot, moist pocket as he hums our favourite song to me, and the vibrations nearly kill me.

"Oh wow, Ollie... Ohhh... baby... don't... don't stop..."

"Mmmmmmmmm," Oliver hums.

"Is that to pleasure me or because it tastes good?" I ask cheekily.

Oliver releases me with a wet pop, and I quickly regret distracting him; what am I going to do with all this built-up love juice and no hungry husband to consume it?

"Both," he mutters huskily, claiming my lips as his own and probing around my mouth with his slightly-salty tongue. "I'm going to suck you like a straw, and then I'm going to ride you like a horse..."

He returns to servicing my dick by encircling the severely swollen head with his lips, and when I feel his tongue caressing my slit, occasionally rummaging delightfully beneath my red foreskin, I feel my spine start to tingle in the early stages of my encroaching orgasm.

"Ollie... I'm going to come soon..."

"Come for me," he encourages around me. "Come for me, sweetheart. Fill my mouth with that hot, sweet cum of yours."

A few strands of Oliver's sleek, brown hair come loose in my hands as my grip tightens, and I can't help but call his name when every muscle in my body goes into violent, unrestricted convulsions.

He laps at the resulting sea of pure desire with much enthusiasm, and the pleasure that the tender touch of his tongue across my throbbing meat gives me is amplified by a heavenly spike in my body's sensitivity.

It becomes increasingly difficult for me to breathe and I can't string a simple sentence together because of Oliver's insistence on cleaning every last droplet of semen from my steadily-softening cock, which also means that his tongue is still free to massage its unobserved client.

"Ollie..." I manage. "That was... stunning..."

"I try," he garbles around me.

He finally ends it there and pulls away from my cock, beaming at my dazed expression and completely useless limbs.

"You deserved that. You always deserve that," he says genially, trailing a light finger down my cheek and placating me with one of his softest kisses yet. "I love you, sweetheart. Now, about me riding you like a horse. You still up for it?"

"I'm always up for it... Nobody deserves to ride me more than you, baby," I return the sentiment with only the most fleeting expression of my love, for we both know that even the simplest of gestures can profess something that runs far deeper than the very foundations of our existence. "I love you..."

"_Lubrico!_" Oliver whispers, stroking my cock.

His freehand abilities come in very useful for times like this. Such an efficient husband I have, for I'm growing harder at his electric ministrations as well as being slicked with a thick, jelly-like substance that I know will be perfect for ensuring that our lovemaking runs as fluidly as the saliva coming from my mouth.

"Ready for some fun, honey?"

Oliver hovers teasingly above my once-again hard dick, and I can see his delicate rosebud flexing itself as he prepares to be breached.

"I'm going in..." I announce with a carnal growl, and I give a particularly hard thrust upwards.

He opens around me and I slip inside by an inch, savouring the hiss of initial entry that comes from him as his tightens, relaxes and tightens again.

"In your own time, baby," I say soothingly, noticing that there's a particularly nasty grimace on his face.

"Not enough lube..." he grunts.

I feel my heart pang slightly; it always kills me to see my fragile Oliver in any pain, physical or otherwise, so I do all I can in order to make sure that the next time I try to penetrate him is as comfortable as possible.

"Do you need a hand?"

"No thanks, I've got it."

With an extra layer of lubricant applied to the both of us, we're both finally ready.

"You're sure it won't hurt this time?" I say worriedly as Oliver angles himself in the optimum position for lovemaking.

"Only one way to find out, I suppose."

I'm concerned for his wellbeing and I can't help but note that there's a glint of uncertainty in Oliver's eyes, but as he braces himself and pushes down, it's replaced by a glassy coat of completion. A low moan escapes him in the form of a deep, guttural croak.

"This feels so good... Harry, sweetheart... let's make love..."

Filled with his glorifying heat, I grip his hips tightly as I start to make subtle movements with my lower body, enjoying the various reactions Oliver gives me. I wriggle to the left and he squeaks, I jolt to the right and he growls, but when I hit on home into the special spot deep within his velvety cavern, he moans louder than I've ever heard before.

"HARRY!"

I once thought that pleasure on this scale would be impossible, but I know that my thoughts were far from correct at that stage of my life, for the love I share with Oliver satisfies me in more ways than one, and I don't intend on giving that up for anybody.

Not now, not ever will my love for this amazing man diminish, and as I help him with his lifts and drops we mumble sweet nothings, no matter how incomprehensible they may be, into each other's ear.

"We need to Consummate our Bonding as soon as possible," I say hurriedly, rambling the words in a race against another cataclysm of pleasure that is sure to befall my spirit at any given moment.

"I-I _know_," Oliver replies, a particularly sharp jab from me causing him to unwittingly emphasise the last syllable. "Shit, Harry! When did lovemaking become even more fantastic with you?!"

"Since you- urrrrgggghh... since you started doing th- _that_! Oh my... BABY, DON'T STOP!"

Oliver presses himself down so hard that I think I might be sucked inside him and he moves hips in a very fast, very noticeable, circular motion that, in turn with the strategic, purposeful quivers of his arse, drive me almost to the very edges of climax.

Our bodies gain a shimmering sheen of sweat which drips from our brows, nose and jaws onto the sofa, creating a strange pattern of dark and light patches amongst the cracked leather, looking rather like a Golden Snitch.

He clamps his lips to mine, but I'm in dire need of a new position. Oliver might be amazing when he's in control, but I can make him feel ten times better with what I have planned...

I snap my arms shut around his middle and stand up, secretly thanking him for keeping his legs locked firmly around my waist so that I can start performing standing movements in order to cripple not just myself with pleasure, but him as well.

"This is where the fun really starts, Ollie..." I utter.

My pace increases, the violent shuddering coming from him tells me that my efforts are affecting him in the most desirable way, and the rewards I reap threaten to destroy me completely unless I put my Quidditch-defined, bolstered legs to some very intense and unpredicted use.

"You d-doing o-okay there, b-baby?" I stutter through the final paroxysmal stage of our lovemaking.

"N-Never b-better, H-H-Har- HARRY! I'm so fucking close!"

"One last switch, Ollie! One last switch and you can blow wherever you want!"

I move us into a different position, a comfortable position, our signature position; missionary. This way, I can kiss my Ollie however much I like and I can carry on hammering into him on the fluffy carpet until he screams my name.

My hand grasps the base of his dick; I'm going to jerk him to orgasm and it's going to feel so much more intense.

He's closer than I originally thought; after a few meagre strokes, his breathing hitches and his voice rises a couple of octaves.

Then the unmistakable signs of orgasm spread across his face.

Eyes rolling back into his head, his mouth forming wordless cries of my name, he explodes like a volcano into my hand and between our bodies. I've never seen him produce so much cum before; it's like I've stumbled onto a dairy farm-

His arse is constricting me in a manner far tighter than I'm accustomed to, but I love the feeling of his inner walls urging me to fill him up.

My release comes in a torrent of creamy fluid that fires out of my dick with the force of a thousand cannons, creating some form of turbulence between myself and Oliver's hole; the resulting backwash is so powerful that I automatically slip out of him a few inches.

His eyes are streaming, his arms stretched out as though begging for my attention, while his dick continues to leak laboriously, his arse draining the lake of cum onto the carpet. I'll clean it later...

I can do nought but collapse exhaustedly onto his cream-slicked body, but I have just enough energy reserved in order to make sure that I don't make too much of an impact on his baby bump, which has grown quite considerably since we started making love forty minutes ago.

"N-Need you... snuggle... love..." he babbles.

"I love you too," I reply simply.

It's clear to me what it is he's trying to tell me, so on top of my expression of affection, I nuzzle myself deeply into his tight, muscular chest and place a few sweet kisses here-and-there.

Our orgasms were so intense that it's taking all of our energy to stay awake.

"Let's get some sleep before we need to wake James Sirius up and get ready for dinner at Monica's," I say quietly, and Oliver gives me a weak nod.

"G-Goodnight, sweetheart..." his chest heaves beneath me.

"Goodnight, my love..."

I wake up a few hours later to find Oliver tracing minute circles just below my eye.

"Hello, beautiful," he croons. "That was so amazing, sweetheart..."

"Now there's a sight for sore eyes," I return, sucking playfully on his nipple.

"Naughty..." he gasps when I nibble on the pink bud.

"Come on, we'd best be getting cleaned up and ready for dinner at Monica's."

Our bodies are stuck together from the mind-boggling lovemaking we had earlier, so it takes quite a while before we eventually split apart; moving quickly would most likely pull our skin and, in turn, cause us a great deal of pain.

We walk upstairs to see that James Sirius is still fast asleep, and I feel that now is the time to wake him up so that we can start getting him dressed up for dinner. I go into the bedroom while Oliver starts running the shower.

"Come on, little James," I say softly, feeling my heart pang when he gives a sharp cry of disapproval. "Time to get up. Mummy and Daddy are taking you to see the nice lady up the road for dinner."

The shower stops running all of a sudden.

"Doesn't it seem odd?" Oliver says, peering his head round the corner of the bathroom door. "Isn't it odd that she's just lost the boy she thinks is her son and she _still_ has the emotional capacity to invite people round to dinner?"

"You're right..." I say in realisation. "Baby, I want you to be extra careful when we go to her house tonight. We need to stay alert and we can't let James Sirius out of our sight..."

"Mama? Where you and Dada's clothes?" James Sirius giggles.

"Downstairs, son," I explain. "Mama and Dada had a little bit of an accident and now we're all messy. I tell you what, why don't you play in here for a little bit while we get washed?"

"Okay, Dada."

"There's a good boy."

I take him out of his cot and sit him down on the floor. If he wants to stand up he can, but I don't want to put him straight onto his feet just for him to fall over and hurt himself.

I leave James Sirius to play with a few toys in the bedroom, not without placing a Security Charm over him (better safe than sorry), and then Oliver and I jump into a quick shower filled with plenty of kissing, groping and only a little bit of cleaning.

After making sure that we're clean, dry and dressed, we get James Sirius ready and, once we've taken a few jars of baby food out of the cupboard and put them in a bag, we set off out the door.

Considering it's ten to eight, it's starting to get unusually dark out.

A blanket of twilight hangs low over the toy houses of Hogsmeade, a few lights burning brightly while some aren't burning at all.

"Remember, baby," I warn Oliver as we wind our way through the maze of streets and alleyways. "Stay alert, keep James Sirius with you at all times and be on the lookout for anything strange. You see something out of the ordinary, tell me and we'll leave. Clear?"

"Crystal. James Sirius, stop it! That dog's tail is not a toy. I knew we should have brought his pram with us..."

"He'll be fine," I say, shooing the stray away and picking my inquisitive son up.

He might only be six, nearly seven months old, but he acts like he's a toddler. It's not a bad thing, I suppose; we're saving a lot of money on nappies and feeding equipment.

"Are you feeling okay, sweetie?"

"Yeah," he grumbles, placing an unconscious hand to his stomach. "Baby's just moving around a lot, that's all."

"We can ask Midwitch Jones about it when we see her next week," I say, Monica's house coming into view.

From the outside it looks quite cosy; a few lights blink into existence every now and then, but they're gone in a matter of seconds. Probably because Monica needs to move around the house while she prepares for our arrival.

"You're going to think I'm crazy..." Oliver mumbles.

"I highly doubt that, What's on your mind, Ollie?"

"It's just that... well... what if we're not just having _one_ baby? What if it's twins? Or even trip-?!"

"Then there'll be two or three extra children for you to dote on," I say simply. "You're a terrific mother, Oliver. The amount of children we have doesn't matter; what _does_ matter is how we treat them, and does James Sirius look unhappy to you?"

Oliver glances at the little boy in my arms.

James Sirius stares at what appears to be a toad on the floor, and my stomach wrenches with guilt at the thought of it being Trevor. Our son smiles widely and says, "Home? Take home? Mama?"

"No, he doesn't look unhappy to me. Thank you, Snitchy," Oliver says with a grin, pecking my cheek. "If we see him on our way home, we can keep him."

"Yay! Lub 'oo, Mama!"

"Love you too, little James."

Oliver takes my son from me and gives him a motherly hug.

"Doesn't Daddy get in on this?" I joke, and we embrace in a brief family cuddle before making the rest of the way towards Monica's house, which I remember is actually her mother's.

The garden is remarkably neat and pristine; a few impeccably-pruned rosebushes stand to either side of a cobbled path leading up a clean, oak door, and a grassy patch beneath a shining, candlelit window seems to glitter in the steadily-darkening night.

"Come in!" we hear when Oliver knocks on the door.

A pleasant scent of salmon and parsley drifts over our nostrils as we cross the threshold into the strangely-dim hallway. I know that this is a wizarding residence, but I distinctly remember a group of Muggle workers installing electricity in every cottage in the village. Why are candles the only source of light?

"It's a bit dark in here, isn't it, Monica?" Oliver says loudly as we hang our coats up.

"The generator is down. The whole street has to go without power until the Muggles can get the problem sorted."

"Stay close to Mummy and Daddy, James," I say in a hushed tone of voice.

"Dinner should be ready in about ten minutes," Monica calls. "Amy, why don't you show Harry and Oliver around the house?"

"Yeah, sure," Amy replies, although I'm sure I detect a hint of badly-hidden annoyance in her voice.

She comes out of the kitchen and smiles mysteriously widely when she sees Oliver and I stood in the floral-papered hallway, James Sirius clinging to my hand with a vice-like grip.

"We'll start with the living room, shall we?" Amy says, sidling past us and into the living room. "There really isn't much interesting in the house, let alone in here; I haven't got a clue why my mother wants me to give you a tour like it's Buckingham Palace..."

"What's this?" I say interestedly.

I point to two old ornaments that stand sentinel next to what looks like a very old, very worn Buddha statue.

"I had no idea that your family was Buddhist," Oliver says, assuming a fake expression of impression.

"We aren't, actually. Mother just bought it for the 'Feng Shui'," she mocks, and I snort quietly.

"Mama, hungry," James Sirius tells us, and I find it to be something of a life-saving moment.

"Sorry Amy, it looks like we'll have to cut the tour short," Oliver says, attempting to put on a somewhat sympathetic manner of speech.

He pulls it off marvellously.

"That's fine; there really isn't much for you to see anyway. Mother's bedroom is halfway through being decorated, Grandma is in bed with a bad case of the flu and my room... well... I prefer my privacy. Come on, I'll give mother a hand with the dinner while you feed James Sirius. Salmon and parsley okay for you two?"

"Completely fine," I nod.

"Time for dinner, my little angel," Oliver beams, picking up James Sirius and placing a subtle kiss to his cheek.

"Lub 'oo, Mama!"

"He's so adorable!" Amy coos. "Looks like you'll have to take extra care with that one."

She takes us through to the kitchen, narrowly avoiding a flying pan as we step into the suffocating steam.

It's like a foggy winter evening in here; hardly anything is visible in here, apart from a long wooden table that makes itself known once I crack my toe against a leg.

"OW!" I shout.

"Snitchy, are you alright?" Oliver says worriedly.

"I'm fine," I say with a strained voice, blinking through the blinding pain shooting from my toe.

"What is it? What happened?" asks Monica, and I hear a few claps of metal on wood.

She can't see through the impossibly thick cloud between us, either.

"I stubbed my toe on your table. Is there any way for you to clear the air?"

"Yes, hold on," Monica says.

She flourishes her wand and the windows open with a clatter, then in a great groan of old oak, the enshrouding substance is belched out into the night, where I watch it drift seamlessly up into the sky and out of sight like a ghost.

"Hey, you changed the colour of your hair," I note, seeing that Monica's hair has changed from its usual black to a rather bright, almost blinding blonde. "Suits you."

"Thanks, Harry," she smiles. "I hate to be a bother, but could you possibly lay the table for me?"

"Sure," I say. "Do you have a teaspoon that we can use to feed James Sirius? He's hungry."

"Yeah, of course," Monica says brightly, and I wonder why she isn't as distraught as she should be.

She glances at James Sirius and grins at him, then she rummages around in one of the drawers around the kitchen until she finds a small spoon, which she hands to me before returning to the dinner.

"You feed James Sirius, baby," I say to Oliver, walking over to a cupboard where Monica said I could find the dishes.

Monica spreads the knives and forks on the table as Oliver sits James Sirius on the chair next to him and starts to feed him.

"Yummy!" James Sirius says cutely.

"We should start him on solid foods soon, Ollie," I say, and I take my seat beside him. "He looks like he's able to eat them now; his teething problems are over."

"Would you like that, James? Would you like to eat the same food as Mummy and Daddy soon?"

"Mhm!" James Sirius nods enthusiastically.

"There's a good boy. Mummy and Daddy love you, little one."

"Lub' oo, Mama! Lub 'oo, Dada! Lub 'oo, little budder!" he pats Oliver on the stomach.

"Little budder?" Monica says, intrigued.

"It's how he says 'little brother'," I explain. "He says 'sidder' for sister, too. James Sirius, Mummy and Daddy don't know if it's a little brother or sister you're having yet. We'll just have to wait for them to come along."

"I want budder! Mama, can I have budder?"

"We can't choose what we have, little James. It just depends on what nature wants us to have," Oliver says gently, and Monica takes the empty jar of paste from him, putting the dirty spoon in the sink.

How odd; there's an empty box of blonde hair dye sitting on the counter in the far corner of the room...

I tap Oliver's leg beneath the table and nudge my head ever-so-slightly in the direction of the suspicious container. He gives me a look of comprehension mixed with a touch of confusion, and I use my eyes to tell him to look at Monica's hair, which is the exact same colour as the woman on the box. The gears in his mind begin to whir and then it clicks into place on the necklace of clues.

It might not seem like much of a lead to go on right now, but if we're to find out who the killer is we need to inspect every last oddity of our suspects, and Monica's strange ignorance of the fact that she's missing a 'son' is quite disconcerting.

"Dinner's ready," Monica says a few minutes later. "Amy, you should tie your hair up if you don't want it getting in your food."

Amy huffs. With a considerably hard flick of her wand, her hair flies up into the air, twists itself round a few times, folds in on itself, falls back to her skull to form a bun and then glows white for a few seconds before staying solidly in place and out of the way.

"Oh dear, it's starting to rain."

Before sitting down at the table to begin her meal, Monica shuts the windows and then returns to her seat.

"We're sorry about Christopher, Monica," I say, and Oliver mirrors my false expression of sympathy.

"Christopher?" Amy says confusedly.

"We don't know a Christopher," Monica says with a raised eyebrow. "Well, apart from the milkman. Oh no! Has something happened to him?"

"No, he's fine," I fabricate, but I've never even seen a milkman around Hogsmeade; Mr Samazaki is there for that. "I just thought... Never mind, it's not important."

"Oh okay," she says simply.

A nasty gust of wind rattles the cottage walls and the light in the ceiling flickers briefly into life, but then dies again when we hear a snap come from outside.

"Just when you think that the power's going to come back on..." Monica grumbles. "Useless Muggles. They ought to buy some Pyrozome just to get the basics done, at least..."

"I doubt that people working for the local council would be able to afford Pyrozome, mother. It sells for five hundred pounds a pill..."

"I guess we'll just have to make do with candles until the generator gets fixed then, won't we?" Monica says with an air of impatience. "Sorry about this, you two..."

"It's not a problem," Oliver says politely. "This salmon tastes wonderful, Monica."

"Thank you, Oliver," Monica smiles. "It was freshly-caught yesterday. I went out to get it just for the occasion. So, how are things at home between you and Harry?"

"Couldn't be going better," I say happily. "We've had a couple of minor tiffs, but what good couple doesn't?"

"That's true, I suppose. Although, the arguments Chandler and I had before we got our divorce were pretty intense..."

"Intense? I'm still reeling from the plate you smashed over his head one time! I felt it from my bedroom!" says Amy.

"Well, it's what he gets for coming home drunk the eighth night in a row," Monica says, and I can sense something of pride about her.

The light flickers on and off again, and this time Monica seems to be very annoyed.

"I didn't want to use it because it's so loud and irritating, but I guess I'll have no choice if I want to have consistent power. Excuse me while I go and turn on the back-up generator in the shed."

"I could do it for you," Oliver volunteers, pushing his half-full plate away. "Sorry about leaving the food, Monica, but it's making my stomach feel a little bit uneasy. I think the baby has something to do with it..."

"It's fine; I completely understand," Monica says. "Are you sure that you want to chance getting a cold? It looks and sounds horrible out there."

"I'll be fine. Honestly, I don't mind one little bit."

"You aren't going out there on your own," I say flatly, placing an arm protectively on Oliver's shoulder. "You can't be too careful with all the murders recently..."

"Harry, I'll be-"

"No buts. I don't know what I'd do if anything were to happen to you or James, baby."

I Summon our coats from the hallway and help Oliver into his, then I put my own on and make sure that James Sirius is properly wrapped up in his thick black jacket before leaving my almost-empty plate behind.

"That was delicious, Monica," I compliment her as she clears away mine and Oliver's used dishes.

"We haven't got anything for dessert, I'm afraid," she says sadly.

"That's fine," I assure her. "I'm feeling quite full, anyway. I'm not sure about Oliver, though..."

"I'm good. This baby really doesn't want me to eat anything lately..."

We brace ourselves for the harsh gale outside, draw our coats up to our chins, James Sirius grips my leg like a vulture and then we troop on out the netted kitchen door into the lashing rain and biting wind.

In just a matter of ten minutes the weather has become so bad that it feels as though every drop of rain is whipping me into submission, but I can't let myself be deterred by a mere storm; Oliver needs me to look out for him and I need to be on my guard to protect not just Oliver and myself, but James Sirius as well.

"Baby, make sure you keep yourself as close to me as possible!" I shout over the roar of the wind. "Don't let go of my leg, James!"

"Dada, it cold!"

I pick James Sirius up as Oliver and I trudge through a muddy puddle, thunder clashing over head and lightning forking lethally towards the ground, and I grunt when his knee accidentally hits me in my ribs.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Oliver says, and I'm so happy to see that he's stopped in order to wait for me. "It's getting pretty difficult to see out here so watch your back!"

"Don't worry James, we'll be back inside soon..."

We feel blindly in front of us, hoping that our hands will come into contact with some wet and woody, but all that's in front of us, from what I can tell, are a thicket of thorn bushes and a few long-leafed plants.

After another couple of minutes, it's becoming increasingly difficult to breathe; James Sirius' knees are pressing into my side even harder and my lungs are having to work double time in order to wade my way through the marshy swamp that is Monica's back garden.

At last I hear Oliver shout, "Found the shed! Let's hurry inside before we freeze to death. You and James Sirius first!"

I quickly move past him, groping along the walls to find support amidst the seemingly endless span of darkness in front of me, and I groan in disgust when my fingers slip on something that reminds me horribly of tar; sticky and highly unpleasant, I made haste in wiping it on my clothes.

"_Lumos!_" Oliver mutters, and the tip of his wand drowns the tiny shed in a warm light. "Harry! Harry no, please not you! Anyone but you-!"

"Whoa, whoa! Ollie baby, calm down!" I say frantically, waving my free hand in an effort to calm him down.

His eyes are streaming with tears and he's consumed with grief in front of me, his heart-wrenching, anguished cries of, "I love you, Snitchy," causing not just myself a considerable amount of pain, but James Sirius as well.

"Mama, why you crying?" he asks innocently, his eyes shimmering in the reflection of his mother's sadness.

"Oliver Potter-Wood!" I shout, and Oliver falls silent. "What in the _hell_ brought all this on?!"

"Sweetheart, you're bleed- oh shit... Harry, don't turn around..."

"What, why-?"

"DON'T!" Oliver hollers. "At least cover James' eyes! Better still, give him to me."

I do as Oliver says and I'm left completely befuddled as to why he's acting like this.

"Don't look, James. Just look at Mummy's shoulder."

I look down automatically as I make to turn around, and I gasp when I see that my hands and clothes covered in deep crimson blood. Then I notice a certain squelching sound coming from my feet, and when I tell Oliver to point his wand at the floor, I realise that I'm standing in a puddle of the nauseating substance.

"What in the..."

The sight that greets me when I turn round is far worse than I could ever imagine; the body of a man I've only seen once before, but a man whose face I haven't forgot, is hanging from the ceiling like a marionette with his torso carved out and a gruesome pile of muscle, flesh and extracted organs is strewn carelessly about the floorboards. Looking very sinister and splattered with something I'd hate to know, the metallic, demonic form of the back-up generator glowers at me from beneath Chandler's hollow corpse.

I take a very cautious step forward, as though I might wake the dead, and realise that there are two things still clutched tightly in his pale palm. One of them looks very much like a note, and upon closer inspection I see, with much inward grief and horror, that it's a list of names exactly like the one that I found Charlie in possession of.

The other item makes my stomach churn, and I tell Oliver to come and take a look as well.

"Ollie, come and get a look at this. It's..."

"Hair. Black, too. Wait, you don't think..."

"We need to go and we need to go now," I say urgently, and I leave the items behind as we run from the shed.


	18. Bond Reinstatement

**Chapter Eighteen – Bond Reinstatement**

"James, you stick as close to Mummy and Daddy as you can, you hear?" I command as quietly as the thrashing rain and blustering winds will allow.

My heart's never beat so fast before in my life, and I need to be extra careful in order to make sure that Monica doesn't see me or my family making a hasty getaway.

I knew there was something suspicious about her, and so did Oliver. Why did I have to be so stupid as to endanger their lives like this?

As much as my mind is focussed on the fact that I'm a terrible husband and father, I have to find a way to get past the kitchen window without being spotted.

Camouflage comes in the form of a descending haze that envelopes not just us or the garden, but the entirety of Hogsmeade itself.

I hiss to Oliver, "Lose the light! Lose the light!", and what little rays that could be seen in front of me through the dampening fog blink into nonexistence.

Right now, the only method of escape is through the gate which separates the front from the back, and with visibility at the worst I've ever seen, relying on a few momentary glimpses of light from the wrathful forks of lightning and cackles of thunder overhead seems like the best idea if we want to be guided safely from this marshy swamp of a garden.

Thorn bushes rise to either side of an apparently concrete path and my foot slips on a patch of moss as myself, James Sirius and Oliver run pell-mell in a direction that we aren't completely sure of. My arms are outstretched in the hopes in that my fingers will scrape along the wall of the cottage, but all I feel instead of bumpy bricks and rough cement are prickly leaves.

"Harry, I think I've found the gate!" Oliver roars over the clamorous weather, and I can barely hear the unmistakable rattling of a metal lock. "It's locked!"

"Are you a wizard or not?!"

"_Alohomora!_ Harry, it's not working!"

"Dada, what's happening?" James Sirius says fearfully. "Dada, scared!"

"It's alright, son," I assure him, desperately trying to give him some form of comfort.

"Where do you think you're going?!" a distorted voice pierces the night, and my heart starts beating out a samba.

"James Sirius, you stick right by Mummy-"

"OWWIE!" James Sirius cries. "MAMA! DADA! HURTY!"

My concern, although exploding in magnitude, is nothing compared to the fatherly instincts that kick in once my son's anguished screams of pain reach my ears, and it seems that Oliver has abandoned his post at the gate to join me in the fight that I all-too-long-ago became involved in.

"HURT – MY – FUCKING – SON – WILL – YOU?!" I bellow over the storm's hellish symphony. "_STUPEFY!_"

I don't even care that I'm not holding my wand and I hardly have time to process the scarlet bolt of light that explodes from my open palm. It makes a beeline for the cloaked, bloody-knife-wielding figure in front of us and sends it careening across the garden.

That's when it happens.

"MAMA! I WANT MY MAMA! DADA!"

"James Sirius!" Oliver says in a panicked frenzy, and all I can see is a blur of brown tousled hair as he sweeps our injured son into his arms. "Oh my poor baby! Harry, quickly! Open the gate!"

"I can't!" I shout back, and to my horror, the killer is prowling towards Oliver, whose back is facing in the most unfortunate direction.

"_STUPEFY!_"

My old freehand abilities are becoming easier to use after making such a sudden and unexpected reappearance, and once again the killer flies backwards, this time cracking its head against the fence and remaining resolutely still. I can only hope that it's not just a temporary arrangement of Lady Luck.

"James Sirius, my poor, sweet baby... stay strong, my little man... Mummy and Daddy are going to get you the help you need... oh little James, Mama and Dada love you so much..."

Oliver is just sitting in a muddy puddle, cradling a profusely bleeding James Sirius in his arms. My heart rate increases when I see that our son is turning a nasty pale colour far too quickly.

"Come on, honey, stay strong for Mummy... Harry, please... save our son..."

I can do nought but watch helplessly as Oliver cries the hardest I've ever seen, and with every earth-shattering wail of emotional distress my soul ebbs away into a sensation of numbness and self-hatred. If only I'd have been more careful...

"M-Mama..." James Sirius groans weakly. "Hurty..."

"I know, little James, I know..." Oliver strokes James Sirius' head in a very fruitless attempt to soothe him.

"Mama... what's that white ball in the sky?"

"It's called the moon," Oliver says through a waterfall of tears.

"I can feel it... it feels warm..."

"The light..." Oliver says with sad and hollow finality. "Don't go into the light, little James! Stay with Mummy! Please, my special little angel!"

"Sleepy... Goodnight, Mama... Lub... 'oo..."

With a resounding shudder, my son, my own flesh and blood, becomes completely motionless, and his perfect, hazel eyes stare up into the devastated face of the mother they can't see.

"James? James Sirius? Little James? Come on now, don't frighten Mummy! Wake up, little James! Please! Please... please... James... my little boy... no... Mummy loves you... Mummy's little angel... come back... my angel... no..."

"Ollie..." I say gently, my eyes flooding my cheeks with tears.

The harsh conditions around us, although clinging to our skin, seem as distant as the misty mountains far beyond the village, and as I crumple next to Oliver, a distraught mess, all my sense of self is lost.

My son is gone... the only thing I ever was truly proud of...

Hard, painful sobs escape my mouth in clouds of mist as Oliver and I cry together in gut-wrenching grief.

We hear squelching coming from behind us, but the loss of James Sirius leaves us feeling so empty, so displaced from the world, that we lack any effort required to pay even the remotest attention.

I wonder to myself why Monica didn't think to come and provide assistance, but then I realise that she is now our number one suspect and is probably the one skulking up to us as I speak.

"He's gone, Harry... our little James is gone..." Oliver croaks, rocking back and forward and nestling up to a blood-soaked James Sirius, who responds in a way I don't quite understand.

"Did-Did he just move his fingers?" I gasp.

"James? James Sirius?" Oliver says desperately, and he gives the boy a shake.

"Ma... Mama..." James Sirius groans, and he coughs a blob of blood onto Oliver's shirt. "Tummy hurts..."

"Wand, NOW!" Oliver demands fiercely.

"Freehand abilities are back," I say quickly, and I place a hand on James Sirius' stomach in the hopes of healing him-

Impossible. There's not a scratch there!

"Snitchy, look at James' eyes... Oh my... Harry, he's glowing!"

"Just like-"

"Just like us when we invoked Vinculum Duo!"

"That means-"

"That means that he's going to be okay! He's got our love protecting him! Snitchy, he can do everything that we were able to do!"

"Save my Mama and Dada!" James Sirius screeches in a demonic voice.

He rises with the air of a high deity, and the storm around us grows more violent still.

Keeping itself low and ensuring that its cloak blends in perfectly with the black, sodden ground, the killer primes itself to pounce at Oliver and myself, apparently ignorant of the overwhelming danger it faces.

James Sirius starts spin in a deadly pirouette, and from the tips of his toes comes, at first, a faint wisp of air that twirls aimlessly, but which escalates in both power and size; bits of mud and grass get torn up and hurled in the killer's direction, and I smirk with a victorious sense of pride when I see that natural forces of my son are becoming too heavy to handle.

With a huge belch of fire that takes myself and Oliver by utter surprise, James Sirius singes the hem of the killer's cloak; it seems that the killer is giving up on us this night, for our son, as much as I hate to pile pressure on him, is protecting us. In a puff of black smoke horribly similar to that of the Nocturnimagi, our attacker vanishes completely, and James Sirius' frenzied attacks come to an abrupt halt.

He falls out of the air but lands on his feet, and he runs over to Oliver with tears in his eyes.

"Mama!"

"James Sirius, my wonderful, perfect, special little boy! Don't you ever frighten Mummy like that again, you hear me?!"

"S-Sorry, Mama," James Sirius sniffs, pressing himself right into Oliver's chest. "S-Sorry, Dada..."

"It's alright, son," I say calmly, and I take his hand. "Ollie, how are we going to get out of here if the garden gate won't open?"

James Sirius gives a hefty grunt and pushes his hand in the direction of the gate. With a loud snap and dull click, the lock falls off and clatters on the ground. It's at this point that the back door of the house opens and Amy and Monica dash outside.

"You stay away from us!" Oliver barks, holding James Sirius close to him like a protective mother should. "If I see you anywhere near my family again, I'll kill you. Don't think you're getting off lightly."

Oliver jabs his wand backwards and I watch as a stag canters out of the gate, its antlers pointing towards the police station.

"_Expelliarmus! Accio!_"

Monica, whose wand flips out of her hands like an acrobatic, zooms in Oliver's general direction. He catches it with the nimble reflexes of the great Quidditch player he is.

"The police will be here shortly. Good luck in getting away; every enchantment you can think of I've put in place around this hellhole you call a cottage. You'll pay for your crimes, mark my words. Come on, Harry. We're going home."

"What are you-?"

"_Silencio!_"

Oliver and I walk triumphantly out of the garden, away from the cottage and down the potholed lane, heading back home for a night of much-needed relaxation and family bonding, and as we turn the corner off the main High Street, the sounds of police sirens can be heard ringing through the gloomy night.

"Mama, look!" James Sirius shouts happily.

He points to an inconspicuous black lump on the road, and when it hops a few inches along the tarmac as we approach, I realise what it is; the toad.

"Mama, can I keep him?"

"Yes you can, my precious little angel!" Oliver says with an eruption of joy and he scoops the toad from the road. "You can have whatever you want!"

"Hello, Mr Toad," James Sirius says, and he pulls a cute expression that makes it seem as though he was never... as though he was never... you know what I mean...

"What would you like to call him?" I ask James Sirius, ruffling his dirt-matted, clumpy hair.

"Hmmm... Snitchy!"

"That's Mummy's nickname for Daddy," Oliver laughs. "Choose another one, eh?"

"Zeus!"

"That's our owl," I chortle, hardly realising that the storm is only getting stronger.

I guess that's what happens when your son comes back to you after being cruelly snatched.

"Erm... Trevor?"

Oliver glances at me and I glance back. We both know it's very likely that this toad is, in fact, Trevor, but we don't want to take this moment away from our son who seems to treasure the animal as though he's had it for years.

"Trevor it is!" Oliver says, placing a motherly kiss to his cheek. "Blergh, you're dirty! I know someone who's going to be getting a nice, hot bath with Mummy and Daddy when we get home!"

"Speaking of which," I say, nodding in the direction of our dark cottage, which comes into view at the very end of the road.

With a quick flourish of my wrist and flick of my hand, the lights in the windows start burning fiercely.

"Dobby, can you grab us some towels, please?" I call as I help Oliver wash James Sirius amidst the mediating vapours in the bathroom.

I grab the sponge and apply a small amount of no-tears shampoo, then I rub it in and make sure that James Sirius' hair is properly wet before lightly scrubbing in small, tactical circles that cause a few clumps of congealed mud (and, horribly, blood) to fall into the placid waters.

"Dada, that tickles!" James Sirius giggles adorably, splashing the water up at me.

"How are you holding up there, angel?" Oliver says.

He holds a cloth tightly to James Sirius' eyes in the hope of preventing soap from getting through and hurting him.

"Good, Mama. Lub 'oo, Mama. Lub 'oo, Dada."

"Love you too," Oliver and I say in unison.

When James Sirius' hair is back to its usual shimmering, black glossiness, I pour a few beakers of clean water over his head and wash away the stubborn suds that cling to his scalp.

Just as Oliver withdraws the cloth, I see that his eyes are streaming with tears, and James Sirius look up at him with a curious expression.

"Mama, why are you crying?"

"Hey, Ollie..." I whisper, and he looks at me with agonising, bleary hazel eyes. "Our little boy's back... You can be happy..."

"I am... so happy, Harry," Oliver smiles wetly. "I thought our family was torn apart for a while back there, but now James Sirius has came back to us and we can carry on as normal... I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you too, baby."

I pull Oliver into a very tight and loving embrace, taking extra care to stroke his back and wet it on purpose for humorous effect.

"Oh, you're getting me all wet!" Oliver chuckles, and I can see that I'm having the desired effect on him.

He pulls our heads together, his lips ghost over mine and my tongue probes at his mouth with an imploring intensity. I nip at his lower lip and he quakes against me, but then James Sirius makes it quite clear what he thinks of this.

"Ewwww! Mama and Dada are icky!"

We smile amusedly against each other as James Sirius goes off an another one of his sweet little tirades.

"You won't find it icky when you're older, darling," Oliver laughs, and he lifts James Sirius out of the bath.

I give him a rather quizzical look as I wrap a towel (which Dobby has given me) around our son's soaking wet and soon-to-be-cold body.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Darling? _Darling_?" I tease.

"Yes, _darling_," he says indignantly. "Harry, we lost our little boy for a few minutes tonight... It hurt far too much to see him lying in my arms and I don't want a repeat of that."

"Nobody wants that to happen the first time," I say pointedly. "But I know what you mean."

"I'm going to make sure that this little jewel doesn't leave my sight."

"That doesn't explain the new nickname, though," I say cheekily.

"I'm his mother, aren't I? Am I not allowed to give him a nickname?"

"Of course you are," I say, placing a light kiss to his cheek. "And you're a fantastic mother for caring about him so much. But you need to be careful that you only mother him and not _smother_ him."

"I promise you that I won't, Snitchy. I just want to keep a close eye on him until this whole thing blows over and then we can relax a little bit."

"Mama, cold," James Sirius complains.

"Let's get you ready for bed in a cute little blue jumpsuit, eh?"

"Lub 'oo, Mama! Lub 'oo, Dada!"

"We love you too, little James," I say playfully in his ear, and he squeals delightedly. "Tell you what; do you want to sleep in bed with Mummy and Daddy tonight?"

"I don't want to see Mama and Dada fighting again..." he says embarrassedly.

"Fighting? Oh! No, we won't be fighting," I assure him. "Mama and Dada don't fight; we do something called 'making love'. It's what grown-ups do when they want to show that they love each other. You can even sleep next to Mummy; how's that sound?"

"Yay! Mama, I get to sleep with you and Dada!"

"I know! But you need to be careful because..." Oliver puts his hands out as though imitating a monster catching a helpless victim, and when he grabs James Sirius in a rapid motion, he says jovially, much to our son's delight, "I could just eat you all up!"

"Come on, let's get into bed," I suggest. "I think we're all exhausted after tonight..."

"Stay still, James," Oliver says as he secures James Sirius into his adorable blue jumpsuit. "You look so cute and cuddly!"

With an almost deafening squeal, Oliver pulls James Sirius into a hug.

"Mummy loves you so much, my little angel."

Looks like Oliver's going to be even more protective of James Sirius after the... event... earlier tonight, but I guess that's a good thing; he'd be a terrible mother if he didn't show any concern for our child, or the other one on the way, as a matter of fact.

Oliver throws the covers back and strips until he's wearing only boxer shorts. Getting undressed myself, I climb into the right side of the bed while Oliver gets into the left, while James Sirius wriggles his way into the centre.

"See you in the morning, honey," Oliver says to me, and he ensnares my lips in a breathtaking kiss.

"Goodnight, baby. I love you."

"I love you too."

"Lub 'oo, Mama! Lub 'oo, Dada!"

"Love you too, little James," Oliver and I say simultaneously.

"Mama, hug! Want hug off Mama!"

I smile and sigh contentedly with the amazing family I have, and as I rest my weary head on the impossibly soft pillow, I watch James Sirius cuddle up with his mother. It's such a heart-warming sight to see my Ollie, my wonderful, caring Ollie snuggle up to the only other person on the planet I'll allow, and the half-joyous, half-protective expression on his peaceful face as he drifts off to sleep with our son in his arms does much to ease the pain of our temporary loss earlier tonight.

It just goes to show that love isn't as pathetic or womanly as people make it out to be; without it, I wouldn't be with Oliver, we wouldn't have conceived two babies and poor James Sirius, should we have gotten him through other means, wouldn't have had the good fortune to survive the killer's attack.

With this in mind and a whole lake of reserved love waiting within me, I find it incredibly easy to drift off to sleep.


	19. Soul Preparation

**Chapter Nineteen – Soul Preparation**

A loud, wall-shuddering, repetitive knocking on our front door alerts me from my sleep. I look at the clock to see that the time is just after four in the morning.

"Ugh... who the hell could be knocking on our front door at this time of the morning?!" Oliver moans groggily.

"Mama, what's that noise?"

"Someone's at the door. Just go back to sleep, darling. Everything's alright."

"I'll get it," I volunteer. "You get your head down and sleep."

I grab my wand from the bedside table even though I could use my freehand powers if I want to, and make my way downstairs on the tips of my toes to avoid making any more noise than what's already rattling the cottage.

I grope blindly for the doorknob, noticing a mysterious red-and-blue flashing coming from outside and a few blurry, horizontal green stripes dangling unsupported through the frosted-glass pane.

"Harry Potter-Wood?" an authoritative voice says sternly.

"Th-That's me."

"Detective Constable Richard Fishman," he announces, flashing a police badge at me. "I need to have a word with you and your husband. Can I come in?"

"It's four in the morning..." I complain. "Couldn't it wait until a more reasonable hour?"

"Afraid not, sir."

"Fine," I sigh exasperatedly, gesturing for him to come inside. "Make it quick, though; I've got a husband and son in bed and I don't want them to wake up."

"Who is it, Snitchy?" Oliver calls from the top of the landing.

"Police. Probably about the murder up at _her_ house."

"By 'her', I'm assuming you mean Miss Monica Geller?" Detective Fishman interrupts.

"We were never actually told her surname..." I say lowly. "Wait... _Geller_? She isn't related to PC Geller, is she?"

"PC Geller prefers not to associate himself with his witch sister. His incantaphobia gets in the way of a lot of aspects of his life, including his work. You may have experienced a bit of difficult when dealing with him-"

"That's an understatement," Oliver scoffs, starting to come downstairs, but then James Sirius appears on the landing.

"Mama, who's that man?"

"It's a police officer. Go back to bed, angel. Mummy and Daddy will be up soon."

"Mr Potter, Mr Wood," the police officer nods at both of us.

"It's Potter-Wood," I correct him.

"I'm well aware of that, sir. I'm simply calling you by your birth surnames for simplicity's sake. Now, you two were seen running from the scene of a crime just a few hours ago."

"You make us seem like criminals, DC Fishman," Oliver says coolly. "I can assure you that we were fleeing from the killer, not the crime scene. Would you like a cup of tea? Or perhaps coffee?"

"None, thank you very much," DC Fishman declines gratefully. "I wasn't implying that you two were criminals. I was merely stating a fact. Besides, we've already apprehended who we believe to be the killer. More precisely, the person you told us was the killer in your Patronus. Monica Geller has been arrested on suspicion of nine counts of murder and several instances of attempted murder. She'll be lucky to ever be released from Azkaban if she gets convicted."

"That sounds about right," I say darkly.

Finally. Justice.

"The back garden looked rather torn up," the Detective Constable continues. "Any idea how that could have happened? There was also a worrisome amount of blood on the path, but there were no obvious injuries to Monica or her daughter that could have suggested it belonged to them."

"That's because it _doesn't_ belong to them," Oliver says seriously. "Our son almost _died_ in that garden. Monica stabbed him. I'm just glad that there was a special kind of magic that healed him straight away. I don't know what I'd do without my precious little James Sirius."

"Mama, not tired..." James Sirius' voice echoes from upstairs.

"Excuse me."

Oliver heads up the stairs, and when I hear James Sirius' adorable squeaks of, "Lub 'oo, Mama!" my heart lightens considerably. A few seconds later, Oliver returns to the living room with James Sirius in his arms.

"Dada!"

When Oliver puts James Sirius on the floor, the little boy runs towards me with his arms spread wide and a gleeful expression across his face.

"Hello, Daddy's little prince!"

"Lub 'oo, Dada!"

"I love you too, little James."

"Quite an adorable little boy you've got there," DC Fishman remarks. "How old is he? Two?"

"Seven months old," Oliver says as though it's not a significant fact. "Eight months on the third of September."

"Why, that's the most remarkable thing I've ever seen! Not even a year old and he can already walk and talk!"

"Magic is a wonderful thing, DC Fishman. For one thing, I wouldn't have been able to conceive James Sirius or our second baby if it weren't for magic and the love Harry and I have for each other. Harry and I showing love around James Sirius has let him develop at twice the usual speed."

"You're pregnant?" the obviously Muggle Detective Constable stammers, completely befuddled.

"It's a very long story, officer," I say aloofly. "You woke us up at this early hour of the morning and I think it's time you offered an explanation as to why you think it's appropriate to disturb my family in such a way."

"Very well. Since Monica has been taken into custody and her father has been murdered, Amy has nowhere to go."

"What about her grandmother?"

"She has been taken into hospital with a severe case of pneumonia. It's unlikely that she'll make it through the night..."

"We're sorry to hear that..."

"Quite. Amy has asked that she can stay here for the time being whilst she looks for a house of her own. She has agreed to pay your dues if you were to allow her to stay until such a time comes that she can move into a home of her own."

"What do you think, Ollie? We'll only be in the cottage for another couple of weeks..."

"I don't have a problem with her staying until then," Oliver confers. "When the time comes for us to leave, though, she'll have to take over payments for the cottage. That is, unless she decides to live somewhere else."

"That is highly unlikely," DC Fishman says knowingly. "Amy has no other family that she could stay with; her father was the last remaining member of the Bing family, which I do find to be especially odd considering non-magical families tend to have long lines of ancestors and descendants."

"So Amy is all on her own?"

"Yes. You two were the only people she could think of in terms of a place to stay. So, will you allow her to live with you temporarily?"

I glance scarcely at Oliver. He mirrors me. He nods.

"Yes, she can live with us," Oliver responds. "Where is she?"

"She is in the squad car outside. If you were to say no, she would have been forced to live on the streets of Hogsmeade..."

"It's a good thing that we're generous people," I comment. "Dobby?"

A high-pitched pop fills the room, and from the resulting puff of smoke materialises the bat-eared, tennis-ball-eyed form of our House Elf.

"Yes, Harry Potter-Wood?"

"Could you give Amy Geller a hand with her luggage when she comes in? She should fit quite nicely into the spare bedroom."

"Yes, sir!"

"I'll be right back."

DC Fishman stands with a sorrowful glint in his eyes, and I can tell that the grave situation is having a detrimental effect on his mood.

"Looks like we're getting a new guest," I say to Oliver with a slight smirk. "This ought to make things interesting."

"Let's hope not," Oliver grumbles. "This baby has really been changing my mood lately."

"Hormones, sweetie."

I pull Oliver close to me and we sit together on the sofa with James Sirius perched on my lap.

"They'll level out soon enough."

I gently peck his cheek and rest my head on his shoulder. I'm so tired...

Oliver leans over and gives me an unexpected, passionate kiss.

"Ew! Ew! Ew!"

James Sirius' face scrunches up in cute disgust as my husband and I show each other our deepest, undying love.

"You'll be doing that when you're older, little James," Oliver laughs, ruffling our son's fluffy, jet-black hair. "I love you, Harry."

"I love you too, Ollie," I sigh dreamily.

The handle clicks as the front door swings open, and a very exhausted, very sickly Amy Geller steps over the threshold, followed closely by DC Fishman who seems to be carrying all of her earthly possessions.

"Dobby!" I call, and he reappears. "Can you take Amy's things up into the spare bedroom, please?"

"Of course, sir!"

Dobby waves his hand at the pile of knickknacks and doodads, which spring to life and canter up the stairs before him.

"Amy, you look awful," Oliver says concernedly. "Can I get you something to eat, something to drink?"

"Not hungry..." Amy says hollowly. "Thanks for the offer, though. I'll just be getting off to bed now."

She goes to take a step onto the stairs, but Oliver holds her back.

"Wait. At least have some water or something."

"Fine," Amy sighs, and I sit James Sirius on the sofa before I go into the kitchen and get her a drink. "Thanks."

I find her attitude to be rather impertinent, but what else should I expect from a girl who has lost her mother and father in the same night? She hands me the empty glass and then makes her way up to bed.

"I trust the situation isn't too much of an inconvenience?" DC Fishman says finally.

"Completely fine," Oliver says. "It's great to have her here instead of letting her live on the streets."

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to contact the station. Goodnight, gentlemen."

"Goodnight, officer."

"Come here, you!" Oliver says in a playful but quiet tone of voice, and James Sirius squeals delightedly as he runs around the bedroom away from his mother.

"Dada, help!" James Sirius giggles.

"Quick! Mummy's gone mad!"

I grab James Sirius by the waist and hoist him onto my shoulders.

We play together for ten minutes before times catches up with us and we start to teeter on the verge of consciousness.

"Alright, time for bed," I pant, lifting James off of me and placing him on the bed.

He wriggles himself into the covers in the centre of the pillows, and I give Oliver an incredulous smile.

"Looks like he wants to sleep with Mummy again," Oliver chuckles as we climb into bed ourselves.

He kisses me, I kiss him, and he kisses me one last time (not without James Sirius giving his opinion on the matter) before we settle down together.

"Mama," James Sirius sighs pleasantly, and I grin contentedly as I watch him curl his arms around Oliver, who embraces him like the doting, protective mother he is.

"I love you so much, my little angel," Oliver whispers with a sniff, and I see a few tears bubble from behind his eyelids. "Mummy and Daddy would be lost without you..."

"Ollie, baby, have you seen Trevor?" I ask at one in the afternoon.

Since we didn't properly get back to sleep until half past five, our waking pattern has been thrown into complete disarray.

"He's in an old fish tank on the kitchen counter," Oliver calls from the bedroom upstairs. "Hurry and get him so that we can get going. James Sirius won't leave without him."

"Mama, where Trevor?"

"Daddy's getting him now, darling."

"What time do we need to be at the Consummation office, anyway?"

"They close at three o'clock."

I quickly run into the kitchen with Snuffles yapping at my heels, and I notice Amy sat in death-like silence at the table as she munches mindlessly on a slice of toast.

"Amy, are you okay with looking after the house while Oliver and I go to the Consummation office?"

She merely nods, her face assuming a distant, blank expression and her eyes staring without seeing the boisterous Crup.

"Snuffles, get _down_!"

I grab an empty tub from a cupboard nearby and take Trevor out of his tank. Then, when I've made sure that I have my keys and the toad is in the plastic container, I head into the hallway where Oliver and James Sirius meet me.

"Ready to go, honey?"

"Yep. I've got everything. Here's Trevor, James. Make sure you don't drop him."

"I won't, Dada."

"That's my boy."

After leaving the cottage in a hurry and Disapparating so fast that Oliver almost throws up upon our arrival at the visitors' entrance to the Ministry of Magic, we find that a burning sun is sizzling the backs of our necks, and when I look up and down the wide, empty street, my vision becomes obscured by a shimmering heat in the air.

"Harry... I feel strange..." Oliver says wearily, and James Sirius gives him a confused but bewildered glance.

"Dada, what's wrong with Mama?"

"Whoa..."

Oliver's eyes roll back into his head and he stumbles backwards.

"Careful now."

I catch him just before he hits the ground, and then I let him rest on the pavement for a couple of minutes while he recoups his stamina.

"H... Harry..." Oliver groans.

Then he rolls over, retches and the sound of splashing bile echoes off the surrounding buildings.

"Mama, what wrong?"

"Mummy's fine, James," I say calmly. "It's just your little brother or sister making him feel a little bit ill. Ollie, are you alright?"

"I'm... I'm fine..." Oliver coughs, spitting out any remaining vomit. "This baby's making me feel so... so weird. I didn't have this when I was pregnant with James..."

"Every pregnancy is different. Or so they say."

"That's true. But that doesn't stop this one from being a pain in the arse..."

"Well, it wasn't exactly _pain_ in your arse that caused your pregnancy now, was it?"

"Don't get smart with me," he says irritably. "I'm really not in the mood."

"Okay. Sorry, baby."

I offer my sincerest apologies by kissing his cheek and helping him up from the floor.

"Here. I brought some breath freshener because I forgot to brush my teeth when we first woke up. Open wide."

He gives me a filthy stare, but I know it's just the hormones from the baby, and opens his mouth so that I can give him a few puffs of the minty spray.

"Thanks, honey. I love you, have I ever told you that?"

"All the time. And I don't ever want you to stop telling me, either."

"That's never going to happen. I've always loved you and I always will, my sweet, sweet Snitchy."

"Ew! Mummy and Daddy are still icky!"

"Let's get to the Consummation office so that we can start getting our souls ready. I can't believe we're really going to give part of our soul to each other. It really is the strongest show of love I can possibly think of, and I wouldn't share my soul with anyone but you, Ollie."

"When we get home I'm going to rock your world, sweetheart."

When I've made sure that Oliver has recovered, we make our way across the road towards the telephone booth I know to be the visitor's entrance to the Ministry of Magic.

"Amazing husbands and precious children first," I say cleverly, gesturing for Oliver and James Sirius to get in first.

"You're a gem, you are," Oliver says, planting a kiss to my lips.

"Ew!"

"Let's see now..." I murmur, looking for the numbers to spell out the word 'magic'. "Six... two... four... four... two... Magic."

From the telephone comes a mechanical whirring and then a dull click. A woman's voice crackles through the receiver.

"Please state your name and purpose."

"Harry Potter-Wood, Oliver Potter-Wood, James Sirius Potter-Wood. Department of Marriage, Bonding and Consummation."

Three badges slide out of the change dispenser and I take them. Mine reads:

'_Harry Potter-Wood, Magical Union._'

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic."

The ground beneath us jerks a few times – much to Oliver's dismay – and then some of the weight on our feet shifts elsewhere as we begin the descent into the Atrium.

We make our way down the splendid, dark wood-panelled hall towards the Fountain of Magical Brethren, letting the soft whooshing of arriving witches and wizards pass us by. James Sirius points and marvels at everything he sees, including the glittering, animated letters on the ceiling above that looks like some sort of heavenly notice board.

"Pretty!" James Sirius cries, the light from above dancing over his eyes.

"Where's the Consummation Office?" I ask Oliver.

"Just down here, I think."

He takes my arm, I take James Sirius', and he leads us past the sparkling waters of the golden fountain, the witch, wizard, goblin, centaur and House-Elf of which seem to be reflecting a light that has no obvious source. The centre of the pool casts an illuminating glow onto the high ceiling, and the brilliant waves of gold and blue drift daintily across the dark panelling like a breathtaking aurora.

We walk on for what feels like years but we eventually come to a turn, and we suddenly find ourselves pacing down a very narrow corridor towards an oak door that reads, in the same italicised, jewel-like golden letters as the ceiling in the Atrium, "Department of Marriage, Bonding and Consummation".

Expecting it to lead onto another corridor, Oliver, myself and James Sirius head onwards without thinking about what else could be behind it.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," an elderly wizard with flyaway hair greets us with a warm smile when we find our path obstructed by a long, high-polished reception desk. "How can I help you today?"

"We're here to get our souls prepared for Consummation," Oliver says with just a hint of pride.

"Consummation? Are you sure? It's a permanent commitment, you know? You shouldn't enter into this lightly if-"

"We know what we're getting into," I say politely, casually slipping a hand into the back pocket of Oliver's jeans. "We love each other to death and back. That's a good enough reason to share my soul with my husband."

"Very well. One moment while I let Consummator Nolan know that you're here."

He gets up from his padded swivel chair and goes down a corridor of such brilliant-white luminosity that my eyes start to burn.

A few minutes later, he returns with a rather young, albeit stern-looking woman.

"These two gentlemen would like to have their souls prepared for Consummation," he tells her.

"Consummation, you say?" she shows signs of great interest, and that contradicts her apparently sour expression. "Gentlemen, would you like to follow me?"

"Come here, James," I say, taking hold of his hand and carrying Trevor in his container.

My heart skips a few beats when Oliver slides his own hand into the back pocket of my trousers. I should be used to this kind of thing by now; we're husbands, after all.

Come on, Harry, you've got to resist the urge to kiss Oliver, at least until we're home...

A door pops into existence, as though from nowhere, along a whitewashed wall, and she takes through it into a comparatively small room that looks like it could only just manage to fit us all in.

"We usually require Bonded couples to make appointments if they wish to have their souls prepared for Consummation. However, Bondings are quite rare, and Consummations are even rarer. As a result of this, our department has been very quiet in regards to same-sex unions. We take any and all couples that we can nowadays.  
"Anyway, you are aware that Consummation is irreversible, correct?"

"Yes," Oliver nods.

"You know that this is the final stage of a Bonding?"

"Yes."

"And you also know that Consummation will keep each partner alive until they die together?"

"Wait, what?" I say in a state of surprise.

"You didn't know? If one partner was to be critically injured or ill, they would be tethered to life by the other partner. It works similarly to a Horcrux, but this isn't a form of dark magic. In fact it's the complete opposite, caused by the lightest form of magic in existence; love. When you are at an old age and one of you is close to death, the piece of that person's soul inside the other partner will keep them alive. There would be no suffering endured, as the dying partner would be living off the healthy soul they have. In other words, you two will never be able to die separately if you go through with this."

My eyes mist over instantly. It's what I've always wanted; no more will I need to worry about losing my precious Oliver before his time, no more will I need to worry about leaving him behind.

"Ollie... we'll be together forever," I say with shining eyes, and I don't think I can withhold my passion for much longer.

"I know," he replies, and he has little to be ashamed of as he allows hot tears to dribble down his cheeks. "I love you, Snitchy."

"I love you too, Ollie," I sniff, taking my hand out of his back pocket only so that I can sit on one of the squashy brown armchairs in the corner of the dully-painted room.

I expect Oliver to sit on the chair next to mine, but he goes one step further and uses me as his own personal sofa, not that I mind.

He drapes his legs across the arm to my right and hooks himself on my neck.

"Want to sit with Mummy and Daddy, James?" he asks.

Taking a tentative step forward and giving us an unsure glance (I think he knows what it usually means when Oliver and I get close like this), he steadily makes his way over to sofa. I lift him onto the lap of his mother, who gives him a peck on the cheek.

"Love you, darling."

"Such a loving family... I'd say that you two are the perfect candidates for Consummation! Okay now, it's a relatively fast procedure. But first, I need you to quickly sign this paperwork. That's not a problem, is it?"

"Not a problem at all," I say, taking the sheet of paper and pen that she hands me.

Oliver and I scribble our signatures on the form as fast as we can; we're desperate to get Consummated as soon as we can.

"So, what do we need to do? Do we just sit here and wait for you to start the preparation, or what?"

"I need for you two to kiss. There's a special spell that is used to initiate the preparation of two souls for Consummation, but it's taught only to those who work in this department and is non-verbal use only. The Ministry can't have Consummated couples running around unregistered now, can they? The souls can only start being prepared if the partners involved are showing physical affection at the time of casting the spell. So, off you go."

Oliver gives me a look filled with such warmth and love that my spine starts to tingle, and he gently cups the back of my head as he pulls me into a slow, deep kiss.

"Ew!" James Sirius exclaims, jumping off of us and onto the floor in disgust.

I'm glad I gave Oliver that breath freshener...

A certain heat envelopes us as we kiss passionately on the chair. Two rather peculiar ribbons of light wriggle free from mine and Oliver's body and intertwine in the air, much like they did when we originally got Bonded, and when they recede into our bodies, assuming the form of a single golden ball that splits into two, I'm left feeling a lot lighter than ever before.

I smile against Oliver's lips as we kiss for what we know is longer than absolutely necessary; I don't want to let go of my husband, not yet.

Miss Nolan clears her throat and Oliver and I begrudgingly break apart, not without flicking each other's cheek with our tongue.

"I love you," Oliver mouths to me, and he rubs our noses together.

"I love you, too."

"Well, that settles the preparation for your Consummation. You'll probably already know that it takes five years before the soul is properly prepared for the ceremony, would I be correct in saying so?"

"Yes," Oliver nods, and he holds me close to him in a hug more loving than I've ever experienced. "What about when the Consummation is actually going to take place?"

"Simply hold another ceremony identical to that of when you and Harry were originally Bonded. When the Bonder casts the spell again your souls won't just link, but they'll merge partially, too."

"Sounds great!" I chirp. "Can't wait to share my soul with you, Ollie."

"I feel the same way," Oliver replies, and he kisses me gently. "I love you, sweetheart."

"You make such a cute couple, if you don't mind me saying," Miss Nolan remarks. "There's a certain... ahem... a certain _side effect_ of preparing souls for Consummation..."

"Oh? And what's that?" Oliver says curiously.

"A boost in the partners' sex drive..."

She says this with an air of high embarrassment about her, and when I see that her cheeks have turned a shocking shade of pink I know that this isn't something she's used to saying no matter how many times she prepares souls.

"Not a problem with me," Oliver says huskily, and he draws his face up to mine.

"Wait until we get home," I say determinedly. "It's going to be so much fun..."

"Mama, hungry," James Sirius tells us.

"Then let's get you home and give you something to eat, eh angel? What would you like for your tea? You can have anything you want."

"The doting mother," says Miss Nolan, her eyes twinkling with the kind of warmth I'd expect from someone who wants children themselves. "Truly the best-suited couple for Consummation I've ever seen. Go. Go and enjoy your life together. If ever I saw a couple deserving of each other's soul, it's you two."

Oliver glances at me and I glance right back; our life together is just one step away from being everything we've ever dreamed of, and I wouldn't have it any other way than being with this perfect man.

"Ready to go?" Oliver asks, proffering a hand for me to take.

I nod and hold his hand as we, along with James Sirius, walk out of the Department of Marriage, Bonding and Consummation, back through the steadily-quietening atrium and out of the Ministry of Magic, heading on home for a night of love.


	20. The Protective Parent

**Chapter Twenty – The Protective Parent**

"What do you want for your tea, my little angel?" Oliver asks James Sirius as we step over the threshold of our cottage.

It's nice and cool in the hallway, so I don't want to move into the sweltering living room; the window in there has always had the tenacious ability to magnify the heat from the sun's rays by at least a thousand, and there have been plenty of times when I've left the room with a slight burn on the back of my neck. The curtains are there for reason, I know, but sometimes I'm so preoccupied with my family that I forget to draw them shut.

"Cheese!".

"A cheese sandwich? Alright, you go into the living room with Daddy while I make you it."

"Lub 'oo, Mama!"

"Love you too, darling."

I place a kiss to Oliver's cheek as he whisks off to the kitchen and I make my way through to the living room with James Sirius still holding my hand.

When I see someone other than Amy in the living room, I gasp not because they seem suspicious, but because I haven't seen them in quite some time.

"Hermione!" I cry, giving her a friendly hug.

James Sirius wraps himself around her leg, cheeping, "Aunt Hermy!"

"Hello, Harry, hello, James Sirius!" Hermione says happily. "Where's Oliver?"

"I'm making James Sirius something to eat," he calls. "Can I get you anything, Herms?"

"A cup of tea, if you don't mind.  
"So tell me, Harry, what have you and Oliver been up to since I last saw you?"

"The main thing has just been survival, really," I say darkly, and then I lead onto a more detailed explanation of the events surrounding us recently.

I tell her of Monica Geller's uncertain future after being unmasked as the killer, of her daughter coming to stay with us after Chandler was murdered, of James Sirius' near-death experience – which makes her eyes stream tears down her face as she gazes at my oblivious son, who munches blissfully on the cheese sandwich Oliver prepared for him – mine and Oliver's Consummation in five years time, and of the sudden return of Vinculum Duo. When I reveal that James Sirius has inherited the elemental powers I once had, her jaw drops and she's very quick to offer her own possible explanation.

"If James Sirius can use the power of the four elements like you were once able to, doesn't that mean it's up to you to teach him how to use them?"

"When I find out where they suddenly came from and why, we _will_ teach him," I say, and Oliver nods his agreement.

"It's really quite simple when you think about it," Hermione says, and she provides us with a lengthy but undeniably logical explanation. "You already had the power of love on your side, which was enough to grant you the ability to use the four elements as you want. They never went away, you can still use them, you just need to focus on getting the power back. That's all. James Sirius – and the other baby – was conceived through magical means that would have been completely impossible if it wasn't for love, and since love gets inherited from parents, doesn't it make sense that they've carried over to your son? This next child will probably have some degree of control over the four elements, as well. From what I can tell, these powers are hereditary. In other words, each child you two have is going to have the same abilities as you, Harry."

"What about me?" Oliver asks. "I don't have any special powers."

"Oh, you do," Hermione says knowingly. "The Bonding linked your souls together. That means anything that affects Harry is going to affect you in some way, too. The same goes for when something affects you; Harry should feel something, too."

"I didn't feel anything when Oliver went into labour," I admit, "apart from guilt for getting him pregnant and making him go through all that pain."

"Don't you ever feel guilty for giving me a baby," Oliver says sternly. "I was glad to go through that pain and I'll be glad to go through it again. I love you, Harry, I love James Sirius and I'm going to love this baby when it comes along."

"Then it's highly probable that you only feel each other's emotions when permanent magic is involved. Vinculum Duo and love are permanent, Dumbledore told you that, didn't he? Like I said, you both still have Vinculum Duo inside you. It just needed reactivating."

"It must have been reactivated when... when James Sirius... when he... I can't bring myself to say it..." Oliver sobs, and I pull him into a comforting embrace.

"Hey now, everything's alright, Ollie. James Sirius is alive and perfectly safe. My poor Ollie, shhhhhh..."

"Mama, why are you crying?" James Sirius asks innocently.

"N-Nothing, darling," Oliver says, using my shirt to wipe away his tears. "Come here and give Mummy a hug, eh?"

"Okay, Mama."

"Mummy loves you so much, angel. I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you. I love you, I love you, I love you..."

Hermione looks at Oliver with a sad glint in her eyes. It's clear that she can see the after effects of our temporary loss the night before.

Oliver's grievous wails still ring in my ears, however distant the sounds may be, and he cries into James Sirius' shoulder with just as much pain as when we were struck childless for a few moments.

"Ollie..." I say gently, crouching beside him. "It's fine now. James Sirius is back where he belongs..."

"I know he is. And I never, _ever_ want to let him out of my sight. Oh, my little angel, Mummy loves you..."

"You really could do with some comforting tonight, baby..."

"I just want my little angel with me," Oliver sniffs, holding James Sirius tightly to him. "Please don't make me let him go..."

"Ollie, baby, you can't be like this," I say with a voice full of concern. "You're going to smother him if you aren't careful. Give him some space to breathe, eh?"

"But, but, but..." Oliver says pleadingly.

"You know I'm right," I say, keeping my tone as kind as possible.

"If you want, I could look after him for the night," Hermione suggests. "It'll let you two spend some time together."

Oliver looks at me as though begging not to be stripped of his son for the night, but I smile warmly at him and stroke his back with a calming intention.

"He'll be safe with Hermione," I promise. "You need to relax..."

Remaining deathly silent for a few minutes, it takes a while before Oliver caves in.

"Alright," he says, his eyes still leaking. "I love you, Snitchy."

"I love you too, Ollie," I murmur, and his soft, supple lips peck at my own. "You're going to enjoy tonight, I promise you."

"What do you think about staying at Aunt Hermione's house tonight, darling?" Oliver asks James Sirius.

"Yay! Lub 'oo, Aunt Hermy!"

"Where exactly _are_ you staying, anyway?" I say curiously.

"Well, at first I was reluctant to accept their offer, what with all the things that have gone on, but I'm living with the Weasleys right now."

I'm stunned beyond words.

"Th-The Weasleys?!" I stammer. "After getting Ron almost thrown in prison?"

"They might be a close-knit family, Harry, but they told me that they cannot forgive Ron for attacking James Sirius and I. They're worried about you, you know? They want to know how things are going for you and your family, so maybe you should send them an owl or pay them a visit with Oliver and James Sirius sometime."

"You know what, I think you're right. We _will_ pay them a visit. What do you think, Ollie? Should we visit them after you've had your hologram next week?"

"I can't see why not," Oliver says, and the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. "We can even show them how much our precious little James is coming along."

Hermione stays at our house for another couple of hours, not without being drowned in cups of tea by Oliver, and when the time comes for her to leave, it seems that James Sirius' protective mother is becoming more reluctant to let him go.

"He'll be fine, Ollie," I insist, placating Oliver with an imploring kiss. "Hermione's more than capable of looking after him. She threw herself in front of him when Ron attacked, didn't she?"

But his grip on our son, who seems excited at the idea of staying with Hermione, remains as solid ever. I decide to put my 'sad husband' face on and pout with big, shiny eyes.

"Please, baby, James Sirius wants to go. You don't want to upset him, do you?"

"Of course I don't," Oliver says, a sad expressing enveloping his chiselled features. But I don't want to go without him, either..."

"He'll be back tomorrow," I assure him. "Look, we can even get up early and collect him then, if it'll make you feel better? Honey, smothering him like this isn't good for him. He needs a mother, not a bodyguard."

"Is that really how you see me? A bodyguard?"

He sounds hurt.

"Just a little bit, yeah," I say sheepishly. "Look, I love how you only want what's best for James Sirius, but if you stop him from getting out into the world, he isn't going to learn much. Please, let him go with Hermione."

"I'm a terrible mother..." he mumbles ashamedly.

"Oliver Potter-Wood!" I say loudly. "Don't you _dare_ call yourself a terrible mother. You're the best mother I've ever seen! If you were a terrible mother, James Sirius wouldn't be as happy as he is, and he wouldn't love you as much as he obviously does, either! You bloody fool, only the loving adoration of his mother could make James Sirius so happy! Now, come here so that I can hug you to death, you big, loveable oaf."

I pull him into a crushing embrace, which it appears he desperately needs.

"I love you, Harry," he cries into my chest, "so, so much..."

"I know you do, baby. And I love you, too."

"You two are just... perfect for each other," Hermione says, a twinkle in her eye. "Really. You're so loving and supporting of each other. I've never seen anything like it. You truly do deserve this Consummation."

"Thanks, Hermione," I say, patting an inconsolable Oliver on the back. "These five years are going to drag. James Sirius, are you ready to go with Aunt Hermy?"

"Yep! Lub 'oo, Mama! Lub 'oo, Dada!"

"Love you too, son."

I kneel down and kiss his forehead. Then Oliver follows suit.

Oliver's reluctance to see James Sirius go shines through his thinly-veiled goodbye, and when the door shuts, Hermione and our little boy Disapparating just as the lock clicks into place, he breaks down in my arms.

"Oh, Ollie... everything is going to be fine, honey..." I say, letting his tears fall onto my shoulder.

"I-I just... I just can't be without him! I need my little angel in front of me so that I can protect him! I don't want to lose him again! My little angel doesn't deserve to be apart from his mummy!"

"It's only for tonight," I say as genially as humanly possible. "Looks like you could really use some love..."

"Thank you, sweetheart..."

"For what?"

"For being absolutely amazing and outstanding as you always are. I honestly don't know how you manage to cope with me when I'm feeling this hormonal..."

"It comes with the job of 'husband'," I joke, and I'm glad to hear him sigh a laugh. "If I didn't love you like I do, I would have walked away. But am I ever going to give up on you? No, I don't think so."

"You always know how to make me smile. I love you, Harry..."

"I love you too, sweetie. Hey, Ollie?"

"Yeah, Harry?"

"I want you to make love to me tonight."

"Where? Bedroom, bathroom, living room, you name it."

"Living room. I've always wanted to make love beside the fire..."

"Aw, such a cute place. Okay, my love, we'll have sex beside the fire. I'm going to be so gentle and loving... and I just know that you'll quiver with every push into that sweet arse of yours."

"Who wouldn't quiver when they've got such a thick and juicy piece of you inside them?" I say huskily.

He clamps his lips to mine and I become instantly lost. His touch is always so gentle, so uplifting, and I really can't think of any feeling in the world, other than being a father, that tops my heart's excitable poundings with each deliverance of his tender ministrations.

"First to the fire gets his dick sucked," I say quickly. "Race you!"

There really is no point in racing since we only live in a small cottage, but I still bolt from the hallway before Oliver has a chance to react to my challenge.

"Get back here, you cheeky sod!" he giggles.

"Remember what you said last November?" I ask casually, stopping abruptly a foot away from the fire, which remains to be lit.

"About what?"

"About this relationship not having losers? Well, it still stands nine months later. We race together, we win together."

"You're amazing," Oliver tells me, and I can see that same loving glint in his eyes. "I really do love you, Snitchy."

"I love you too, Ollie," I reply, giving my wrist a very subtle flick and steadily dimming the light until it no longer exists. "Romantic, eh?"

Oliver smirks through one side of his mouth and takes my hand in his. Then, waving his other hand, the fire crackles into life. Its heat washes over my skin like I've just sat down in a bath of hot water, and an involuntary sigh of contentment escapes my mouth.

"I love having a romantic for a husband," Oliver says quietly, and he paces right up to me until our faces are a mere inch apart. "Lay on the floor so that I can kiss you wherever I please."

We gaze at each other for a few seconds, and then I place myself on the carpet, letting the long, fluffy black strands of material tickle my skin and creep between my fingers and toes.

"I need you down here with me," I say with a fake pleading tone in my voice.

"Here I am," he chuckles, getting to his knees while lifting his shirt up and over his stomach, chest and head.

Even though he's carrying our child – the bump looks awfully large – I still find myself attracted to him. His handsome face, his jewel-bright, hazel eyes and perfectly-toned legs call to me, but none of that really matters to me as much as it did when I first started dating him. Admittedly, I first wanted to date him because of mainly superficial reasons, but a few traits of his personality quickly started to shine through and now I can see nothing but the kind-hearted, pure soul that lies within his pristine body, which is quite the bonus for me.

"Even with a baby sticking out of you, you look fantastic," I breathe, and I pull his head down until our lips meet. "Your lips are so soft..."

"I love you, honey," Oliver whispers, "so, so much..."

"My Ollie..." I smile, my eyes moistening.

One half of Oliver's face is enshrouded in darkness, but the fire beside us casts a healthy orange glow across the other, and he radiates a warm positivity that just so happens to make my nether regions spark with enthusiasm.

"Baby... need love... need _you_..."

I allow a few solitary tears to trickle down my face.

"Oh, sweetheart, what's wrong?" Oliver says, stroking my torso underneath my shirt.

"It's just... you're perfect," I say, my voice quavering. "Ollie... you're so incredible. You're such a kind, caring, loveable, _gorgeous_ man. What did I ever do to deserve you in my life?"

"You saved the world three times, you saved _me_ countless times, you're one of the most gentle people on the planet, you've given me a baby – with another one on the way – and you're an astounding father," Oliver recants, ticking each item off using his fingers. "They good-enough reasons for you?"

"I guess so," I murmur, and Oliver wipes my eyes with his thumb so lightly that I might have been imagining it. "Oh, baby, let's make love..."

"With pleasure," he says, looking at me lovingly as he removes the last of his clothes.

He throws his trousers, socks, pants and shirt to one side, and I can see that he's already at his hardest.

"Let's get you comfortable, hm?"

He takes a hold of the bottom of my shirt and slowly pulls it all the way up my body until the firelight covers me in its golden haze. Then he grips the waistband of my trousers and gives a sharp tug, letting them fall loose from my legs and removing those as well. Next to go are my pants, which he literally tears from my body with a meagre twirl of his finger.

"Fix them later..." he mutters as the sound of ripping fabric fills the room.

I suddenly feel very cold, and I know that there's only one way for me to sort that problem out.

"I'm cold," I tell him, fabricating a shudder. "I need you close to me so that I can warm up."

"Then let's get you warmed up, eh?" he winks, and he straddles my chest.

His hard dick inadvertently strokes over my nipple in his movement, but it pleases the both of us; he gasps as the tip of the rosy bud momentarily jabs into his slit and the sensation of having something so meaty being in contact with such a sensitive part of my body makes me quake with desire.

"I'm feeling rather... hungry..." I growl. "Need something meaty to satiate me..."

"You mean this wimpy little thing?" Oliver says, raising an eyebrow as he points to the proud member between his legs.

"Don't you dare call this beautiful specimen 'wimpy'," I say lowly, grasping the base of his shaft.

I give it a few rapid strokes, savouring his gratified groans.

Oliver's dick is just within reach of my tongue, so I unleash it and minutely flick at the pink, mushroom-shaped head.

"Mmmmm... what _am_ I missing?" Oliver says, and the glint of ravenous hunger in his eyes tells me that he wants more than just a simple lick.

He shuffles on top of me until his crotch is just a few inches away from my face, and I know that this may be the best position for us if I want to take all of his powerful, manly meat into my mouth.

"What are you waiting for, Potter?" he says carnally. "Suck me off..."

"You don't need to tell me twice," I say with a cunning smirk.

Quick as a flash, my mouth opens up and slides down his throbbing cock until my nose is nestled in the slight dusting of hair in his pubic area.

"Ohhhhhh... that's my Snitchy... Give me the best blowjob you've ever given..."

Keeping our eye contact at a maximum, I draw my lips up his dick while dragging my tongue along the underside, feeling each pulse of the veins that run along its length.

"Wonderful..."

Then I gulp, hard. For a split second, the muscles in my throat become an awful lot like jelly moulds as they constrict around Oliver's entirety, and it must certainly be an experience for him because he shouts at the height of his lungs.

"_This_ is what I call a blowjob," he moans.

I take another smooth dive and carry on swallowing, much to his delight. My tongue flails wildly – as much as the fleshy log will allow – and taps every inch of him it can feel. He quivers atop my chest and his legs squeeze me somewhat. I force myself to pull off his dick, a wet popping sound ringing around the room, and then I lay for a minute or so trying to regain my breath.

"Couldn't... breathe... for... a... minute... there..." I pant. "Legs... squeezed... chest..."

"I'm so sorry, Snitchy!" he apologises rapidly, and he adjusts himself until our dick are aligned he's laid in between in my legs. "I'd never do anything to hurt you. Oh, my precious Harry, please forgive me, I'm so sorry-"

"It's alright," I say, tracing a light finger down the side of his cheek. "It was an accident. Accidents happen. But now, I think I just want to make love..."

"I completely understand, sweetheart. How do you want me to enter you?"

I wiggle myself a little bit, telling him silently to get off of me, and when his weight is gone, I clamber onto my hands and knees with my arse facing him.

"I'm feeling empty. Need you inside me..."

"All in good time," he breathes in my ear.

I shudder in anticipation, my body aching with desperate need.

I wonder what it could possibly be that he has planned for me, but when something encircles my waiting hole and a certain wetness starts streaking across the muscle, I realise that he's trying to lick me out.

"Ollie!" I cry, and I involuntarily shove my hips backwards.

Well, that certainly helped me scream louder; his tongue doesn't simply press against me, but it parts my ring and penetrates my body. Only once before has Oliver done this, even though I distinctly recall telling him to do it to me more often after we'd finished that particular session of lovemaking.

My eyes begin to water as Oliver's undulating tongue stimulates every nerve in my arse, and it's now that I feel is the right time to beg him for my own release.

"Please... Ollie... need you inside..." I plead, a few tears rolling down my cheeks.

He glances at me and notices with sympathetic sadness that I'm crying, teetering on the verge of insanity with the only way back being that of my his powerful thrusts.

"Okay, sweetheart," he says with a deep, kind voice, "I'm going in now. _Lubrico!_"

The saliva on my arse was once warm, but it's quickly replaced by a thicker, colder substance that I know will be used to make our sex painless.

"Are you ready, honey?"

"Ready as ever."

"Okay, here we go..."

I hiss at his initial entry, but the slight sting that I usually feel when he enters me is gone in the blink of an eye. Further and further inside he goes until I can feel the bristly hairs around his dick brushing against my arse cheeks.

"Ollie!" I groan loudly, for his dick stabs straight into my willing prostate and stars burst in front of my eyes.

"How does that feel?"

"A-Amazing, baby... Just like always... I'm begging you, you've got to move before I explode... Ohhhhhhh!"

"Snitchy..."

His thrusts are slow but meaningful, and with every job of his length into my prostate, my entire being quakes with passionate hunger.

He leans over until I can feel his torso – and the baby bump – across my back, and when he wraps his arms around my chest I know that he's going to get his leverage from my own body and use it to fire up every single part of me.

"Oh, Harry..." he moans into me. "Your arse feels so good..."

"Baby, your dick feels so- Ngh! So good..."

He peppers my back with light kisses and nibbles on my neck, all while sticking to the same, unfaltering pace. I wish I could return his kisses...

"Want to kiss you..." I attempt, but the words get caught in my throat when he jabs solidly into my prostate, and instead I scream, "OLIVER!"

My knees start to grow red and sting as I rock backwards and forwards on them while Oliver and I make love. If I'm not careful, I'm going to get a carpet burn...

"Ow..."

"Is everything alright, honey? You're not in any pain, are you?"

"Not from the sex," I assure him, "the sex is fucking amazing. My knees are starting to hurt, though."

"Then let's get you into a position where you feel most comfortable, eh?" he says, gently kissing my cheek and ending his thrusts.

He withdraws delicately from me, and I wince when my arse becomes empty once again.

I turn over, laying on my back with my legs wide apart. This way, I can look Oliver in the eye while we make love _and_ there won't be any discomfort.

"Baby... enter me..."

"I'd be delighted to," he says, and he presses his lips to mine.

I love this man so much, and the whole atmosphere around us from the slowly dying embers of the fire is incredibly sweet and romantic.

"Going in..."

He pushes forward and I become pleasurably violated once more.

"This is how lovemaking should be," I say quietly, cupping the back of Oliver's head and kissing him fervently.

His tongue brushes against mine as he starts to thrust slowly, and my legs snap shut around his waist so that we can stay securely together.

"I love feeling your juicy cock inside me, baby..."

He breaks our kiss and clamps his lips to my neck, where his tongue is free to do whatever it pleases. It zigzags over my sensitive skin and every now-and-then he suckles quite hard.

"Ohhhhhhhhh... Ollie, please, don't stop..."

"That feel good, sweetheart? Want me to go faster, _harder_?"

"It feels... outstanding... Ohhhhhh! I love this pace, don't change a thing..."

He really did mean it when he said that he was going to be loving and gentle, but I suppose I should have expected no less from him. Always tender, never painful sex is what I've come to expect from him, and he never fails to disappoint. We're always left feeling very sated, and I can tell that, even though his thrusts are so slow, my orgasm is going to be mind-boggling.

I drag my nails down the length of his back just hard enough to make him feel a little spark, but not so that he ends up having eight long red lines sticking out like a sore thumb.

"Ollie... baby... missionary is such a sweet position with you..."

"What would our love life be without any romance or intimacy, honey?"

"We wouldn't- Mmmmm... we wouldn't have one."

"Exactly," he smiles, the left side of his face enhanced by the firelight's effervescent glow. "Honey, I'm almost there..."

"Ohhhhhhh, baby! Ngh! Me too!"

With a final deafening roar of approval, I hold Oliver to my body so tightly that I almost crush him, and even though my orgasm is one of the most intense I've had yet, my dick doesn't explode like it usually does. Instead, a constant, seemingly-endless stream of pearly white cum runs from the slit in a milky river and pools around the root, some of it clinging to my fine pubic hairs.

"Here I come!" Oliver groans, and he pounds my arse with a fierceness that turns my buttocks a very nasty shade of red. "Oh, Snitchy!"

He gasps and swallows for air as he nestles his face deeply into my neck, unloading his reservoir of seedy fluid into my hungry arse.

"I love you, Ollie..." I say, my eyes gleaming.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he replies, and he ensnares our lips together as we lay there for the rest of the night, allowing the remaining warmth of the fire to stop us from getting cold and the long strands of the fluffy living room carpet to lull us to sleep with their tickling touch.

I'm freezing when I wake up a few hours later, even though I've got Oliver on top of me. The first is completely dead, and there isn't a single speck of light in the room. His sweet breath ghosts across my cheeks, his head resting placidly on my shoulder, snoozing peacefully, as I try to think of a way to move from underneath him without waking him up. Why does the kitchen have to be so far away?

"Gonna keep that seeker..." he says groggily when I shift, perhaps a little too quickly, to the right.

Still, it's sweet to know that his dreams involve me even after almost a year of us being together. Merlin, I love him to death...

His arms grip me as though he never wants to let go, and even though I know that he's out for the count, I can't help but feel as though he's doing this on purpose. He's going to have to let go of me sooner or later, unless he wants a dehydrated husband.

Oh wait, I've got my wand within arm's reach. I can just use that to conjure some water for me to drink. But the issue after that is, how in the world am I going to get food?

I hear a creaking coming through the floorboards in the celing, and I remember with horror that Amy is staying with us. So I grab my wand, tap myself and Oliver on the head and watch as our bodies become completely invisible. Just in time, too.

Amy comes downstairs, looking much like a zombie more than anything else, and I'm sure she catches my eye as she trudges past the living room door through to the kitchen. I hear the chinking of glass – thrice – then I hear the running of water – thrice.

Next minute, I'm faced with Amy bringing two small glasses of water into the living room, placing them strategically next to my head.

She mutters, "You might be good at Disillusionment charms, but that doesn't stop me from seeing your breath when it's cold. Drinks for you and Oliver in case you get thirsty. Thanks for letting me stay here, I really appreciate it."

She reaches over my head, not that she knows what she's reaching over, and clicks a button on the fire. A single spark breaks the darkness and gives birth to a second fire that's hotter than the one that was roaring while Oliver and I made love. I notice that, as the fire springs to life, the streaks in her hair have been dyed a deep shade of red, and I can't help but think that they suit her more than the previous green ones.

And she whisks herself back off to bed with a glass of water in hand.

I might have a drink now, but I'm still famished.

"Give Mummy a hug," Oliver slurs, and his hold on me tightens until I'm coughing and spluttering.

Yet he still doesn't wake up. What the hell keeps this man asleep, Draught of Living Death?!

"Oi, Sir Snooze-A-Lot," I say loudly, "budge over so I can get something to eat, eh?"

He snores on, somewhat louder than he did before.

"Hold on..." I say in realisation. "I know you can hear me. You have three seconds before I pour these glasses of water over you."

"But I like lying with you too much," he whines playfully, compressing me more and nuzzling himself into my neck.

It's got to have something to do with his hormones and the baby, I deduce.

"Then by all means lay with me, but let me have something to eat and drink first, eh?"

"Oh, okay, but just because it's you, honey," he says, and he rolls off of me after giving me a light kiss. "What time is it, anyway?"

"No idea," I say, "but judging by the little bit of light outside, I'd say around five o'clock. Do you want anything getting from the kitchen?"

"Baby's craving ice lollies again," he winks, and I roll my eyes in amusement.

I move from the living room into the kitchen and return a couple of minutes later with two slices of toast for myself and a grape-flavoured ice lolly for Oliver, the last in the pack.

"I'll have to buy some more," I say conversationally. "We're out of ice lollies now."

"We can grab some when we fetch James Sirius shortly."

"Shortly?" I say, surprised at his urgency. "Honey, don't you think you're being a little bit overzealous?"

"I'm his mother," he tells me flatly. "I don't deserve to be away from him and he doesn't deserve to be away from me."

"But, Ollie, you're going to end up sheltering far more than what's actually healthy," I say concernedly. "Please, I'm begging you, give him the space a child needs. I know you're desperate to keep him safe and I feel just as strongly about protecting him as you, I really do, but if we don't let him experience the world and learn from his own mistakes as well as our own, he's going to end up growing up not knowing right from wrong or what it means to have bad things happen. It sounds cruel to suggest letting him experience bad things in his life, but it plays a vital part in strengthening him on his way to adulthood."

Tears pool in his eyes and he averts his gaze, instead staring mindlessly into the flickering flames in the grate.

"Look at me," I continue, and he does so. "If he doesn't build up some immunity to emotional distress, how do you think he's going to react if one of us were to... were to die? Honey, with everything that's going on, we need be extremely careful. Sure, when we have our Consummation we'll be protected from death until we go together, but until then we're just as mortal as anybody else. That means that if one of us were to get topped off – I know that it's not going to happen, what with Vinculum Duo being back, but that's not the point – he's going to be even more upset than he would be if he'd already had some form of hurt in his life. We need to let him experience some form of pain so that if something like that _does_ happen, he won't be as devastated as he could be. Do you understand?"

"You-You're right..." he says ashamedly. "You're absolutely right. We need to let him learn – _I_ need to let him learn – otherwise he's not going to be confident when he's older."

"Exactly," I say, pulling him into a loving embrace once I've wiped away the rivulets of tears on his cheeks. "I love you, sweetie, you know that?"

"I couldn't ever forget," he sniffs, and he kisses me passionately. "Thank you, sweetheart. You're an amazing father..."

"Don't you dare start critiquing yourself on motherhood," I say warningly, knowing what's about to follow. "I've said it before and I'll say it again: James Sirius wouldn't be as happy as he is if you were a bad mother. I'm nipping this in the bud and I don't want to hear anymore about it, because I'm not going to let you think you're a bad parent; you're one of the best damn mothers I've ever seen."

"Thank you," he says again. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Snitchy..."

"For one thing, you wouldn't have had our son. You'd probably still be up at Hogwarts as a Quidditch coach, too. What a boring life that would have been, eh?"

"Yeah," he laughs, much to my relief.

It always pains me to see him in any grief, so I wipe the last vestiges of tears from his cheeks and pull him into a tender hug.

"I love you, honey," he whispers as he presses his nose into my neck.

"I love you too, sweetie. What do you think about going to The Burrow today?"

"You mean to see Ron's family?"

"Yeah. We can get James Sirius while we're there, too."

"Okay, yeah, we'll go," he says immediately.

"That's what I thought. Alright, you big, loveable oaf, let's get dressed and off to see the Weasleys."

"But it's still early..."

"I can't stand seeing you upset and childless – we're going to get our son."


	21. Redheaded Return

**Chapter Twenty One – Redheaded Return**

"Harry, Oliver, so good to see you!" Mrs Weasley squeals when she opens to the door to our tired but smiling faces. "But, what brings you here at this time of the morning?"

"Oliver was getting a little bit upset because James Sirius wasn't with us," I explain, and she gives him an understanding glance.

"Oh, don't you worry, dear," she says sympathetically, "I know just how you feel. When I first had Bill I never, ever wanted to let him out of my sight. It will all go away soon, I promise. Come in, come in! Have some breakfast. Hermione and James Sirius are playing in the living room. Arthur, dear, could you make Harry and Oliver some tea, please?"

As we cross the threshold into The Burrow, which I once called my second home, I notice that a few very significant changes have been made. For one, the walls are no longer chipped or peeling; they've been varnished in a lovely orange colour and what was once a candelabra in the ceiling is now a chandelier, complete with working light bulbs. The delicious scent of bacon and sausages that I know from my years of staying here remains just as strong as ever, wafting over our nostrils like a tempting mistress that makes our mouths water.

"As you can see, we've made quite a few changes to the house," says Mrs Weasley glumly, who gestures to the walls, ceiling and even a few new (Ron-less) family portraits. "We thought it would be best if we got rid of all of the... _bad_ memories..."

I nod in understanding, as does Oliver. It must be rather painful for Mr and Mrs Weasley to think about their disowned son...

"Anyway!" Mrs Weasley says, suddenly cheerful once again. "Hermione told me that you're both expecting another child. Is that right?"

"Yes, that's right," I say proudly, huddling up to Oliver's side and placing a hand on the delicate baby bump that grows ever-larger by the day. "We're going to be parents again."

"You're starting quite the family, Harry," Mrs Weasley says, and I'm sure that I can see a happy shimmer in her eyes, "are you sure you'll be able to look after them?"

"With a protective mother like Oliver? I don't think I'm even needed," I joke.

"Hey, now, don't say that," Oliver says, sounding hurt. "You _are_ needed, not just in the kids' lives, but mine as well."

"I can see that you've both got that same old spark you had when you two were first Bonded," Mrs Weasley comments when Oliver and I kiss airily. "I can see what Hermione meant when she said that you two deserved this Consummation. Yes, she told me about that, too," she adds with an amused smile. "Go on, see your son. I'll bring your breakfast in to you."

"Thanks, Molly," Oliver says politely, and he makes for the living room.

But he's stumped when he remembers that he's never been here before.

"Follow me," I smirk, leading him in the opposite direction he went and taking him through to the living room, where Hermione and James Sirius are playing hide and seek.

"I'm coming to get you!" Hermione says playfully, not realising that we're in the room.

Placing my fingers to my lips and hinting for Oliver to be quiet, I point to a large potted plant in the corner that's big enough to hide the both of us.

Carefully and quietly, we creep across the room, still without Hermione noticing us, and shuffle behind the plant until the dark-green leaves obscure us from view.

Oliver and I resist the urge to laugh out loud as Hermione grows nearer.

"Aunt Hermy's going to find you," she says quietly. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

"Surprise!" Oliver and I shout, pouncing out from behind the plant and giving Hermione the fright of her life.

She jumps out of her skin and dives behind the sofa for cover while we roll about on the floor in fits of laughter. James Sirius peers his head round the corner of the sofa and, seeing us in our hysterical state, he runs over to us shouting, "Mama! Dada!"

"Hello, my little angel!" Oliver positively booms. "Mummy missed you so much!"

"Love you, Mama!"

"Love you too, little James. Hey, you can say your 'l's and 'y's now! Well done!"

"You're getting to be a big boy now, James, try saying 'Mummy'," I encourage him.

"M... Muuu... Maaa... Muuum... Muuummy... Mummmmy... Mummy!"

"There it is!" Oliver shrieks. "You can say 'Mummy'! Can you say 'Daddy'?"

"Daddy!" James Sirius squeaks simply. "Love you, Mummy! Love you, Daddy!"

"We love you too, son."

"He's growing up so fast..." says Hermione.

"Did you have fun with Aunt Hermy last night?" Oliver asks James Sirius, sitting down on the brand new, cream-coloured sofa with the boy on his lap.

"Yeah! We watched films and ate sweets and _I_ got to sleep in the big boy's bed while Aunt Hermy slept on the sofa."

"Did you, now?" Oliver says interestedly. "What sweets did you have?"

"Um... Um... We had... Botty Berts and... Roodles and... Fizbees!"

"Bless him," Mrs Weasley coos, laying our cups of tea on the coffee table. "They're called 'Bertie Bott's', 'Drooble's' and 'Fizzing Whizbees', dear."

"What else did you do? Come on, tell Mummy."

"That was it," Hermione says. "We watched two or three films on the TV," she nods to a so-far-unnoticed flatscreen TV hanging on the wall, "and ate some sweets – I was careful about the beans I gave him; I only gave him the fruit-flavoured ones. After that, he was quite tired. So I tucked him into bed with a nice cup of warm milk, read him a bedtime story-"

"Can we read that one again, Aunt Hermy? I want to hear about the little boy in the cupboard under the stairs!"

Oliver glances at me and I'm blushing furiously. It's obvious which book Hermione read...

"-and came back down, where I fell straight to sleep on the sofa."

"He wasn't any bother, was he? For any of you?"

"No bother at all, dear! In fact, he was a delight to have staying over. He's welcome back anytime, and that goes for you two, as well. Feel free to come by whenever you like."

"Mrs Weasley?" I say cautiously. There's a subject I need to talk to her about, but I don't know what the right way to go about talking to her is.

"Yes, dear?"

"Can I ask you something? It's a little bit... personal..."

"Ask away, Harry," Mr Weasley says brightly, coming into the strangely cosy living room.

The Burrow has never been like this...

"Why the sudden change in appearance? The Burrow used to be several storeys high and, I hope I'm not being rude or anything, it wasn't the tidiest place inside. Now, you've got electricity, the house looks exactly like a house should, and you've even managed to get expensive items like a brand new sofa and TV. What happened?"

"Well, when our youngest son left us," (ouch, on Ron's part), "we decided to have a complete overhaul of the house. All our family photos have been edited, the house was flattened and refurbished, and it was all affordable because Arthur got a promotion at work _and_ we won three hundred thousand Galleons on the lottery. We still have one hundred and fifty thousand Galleons of it left. Would you like some-?"

"No, thanks, we're all set in terms of finances," Oliver declines affably.

"Oh, alright then. At least take some gold from us to get something nice for James Sirius. Merlin knows he could do with a bit of interaction from his father's second family, hm?"

She digs deep into her pocket and pulls out a handful of gold.

"Here. Get him a toy broom or something. Something he'll really enjoy. I know how much you and Oliver both love Quidditch, maybe you should let it run in the family?"

"I was thinking about teaching him how to play when he's a little bit older," says Oliver. "I want him to be able to like his Mummy and Daddy. We'll teach the other kids, as well. Who knows, we could start a little team made up entirely of family members."

"If we have enough children, that is, baby," I say quickly. "How many kids are you thinking of having?"

"As many as come along," he states. "Only if you want more children, though. I won't force you, don't worry, my sweetheart."

"Of course I want more children with you, Ollie," I say, kissing his cheek and nestling myself into his side. "I'd be mad not to make our wonderful family bigger. I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Such an adorable couple..." Mrs Weasley coos again.

"Icky! Ew!" James Sirius comments, screwing his face up in disgust.

"Should Mummy and Daddy stop doing that in front of you?" Hermione humours our son.

"Yeah! It's icky!"

"Yeah, Mummy and Daddy, kissing's icky!" Hermione says childishly, sticking her tongue out at us.

She's so great with kids, it's a shame that she doesn't have anyone to have them with anymore. She gives James Sirius a look that screams broodiness, and my heart really goes out to her.

Just then, Fred and George walk in through the front door, looking distinctly ruffled after what I guess must have been a hard night of work at the joke shop.

"Going up to bed..." George grumbles, not noticing that we're sat in the living room.

He climbs the stairs and we feel his heavy footfalls through the house. A door upstairs slams shut.

Fred, on the other hand, sees us sipping tea and chatting. I would have expected him to sit on the sofa, but instead he decides to take a space on the floor next to Hermione. Then he kisses her on the cheek and I'm completely gobsmacked.

"You- her- when- what- why- how- WHAT?!" I babble. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I was going to," Hermione says indignantly, hanging her nose in the air, "when Fred came home. I figured I'd tell you when we were are all here together."

"But when? And how? And _why_?"

"We'll answer those questions in order, I think," Fred says with humorous sarcasm in his voice. "When? Not too long after Hermione moved in a couple of months ago, we started talking and getting to know each other. How? I don't really know."

"I do," Hermione says with pride.

"You were there for me when I was attacked by Ron," (Mr and Mrs Weasley's face screw up from what must be a painful thought), "and you showed me so much care and attention. You know, I often wonder to myself why I didn't pick you first. You are by far the better brother."

"Thanks, Herms. Do anything fun last night?"

"Actually, yes," Hermione nods towards James Sirius, who's looking at Fred with a clear apprehension. "Little James Sirius stayed with me last night while Harry and Oliver had a bit of alone time."

"Always a great friend, Hermione," Fred says, embracing her and lightly kissing her forehead. "Hello, James Sirius, I'm your Uncle Fred."

"Mummy, who's that man?" James Sirius says shyly, burrowing his face into Oliver. "Frightened..."

"Hey, it's alright, darling," Oliver says calmingly, hugging James Sirius in a motherly way, "that's just Mummy and Daddy's friend, Fred. Why don't you go and say hello to him?"

"I'm not going to bite," Fred smiles, putting a hand out and approaching slowly.

"Mummy, I'm frightened," James Sirius sniffs. "Don't like strangers."

"You don't want to say hello to your Uncle Fred? Okay, you just sit right here on Mummy's lap then, eh? Love you, angel."

"Love you, Mummy, love you, Daddy! Daddy, hug!"

I take James Sirius into my arms and hug him, just as he hugs me back. It seems that he gets his loving nature from both myself and his mother.

"He's so adorable," Hermione says longingly, "I want one..."

"All in good time, Herms, all in good time," says Fred. "How old is James Sirius, Harry?"

"He'll be seven months old on the third of September," Oliver says, pride streaking across his eyes as he gazes at our son.

"Seven months?!" Fred shouts. "Seven months and he can already walk and talk?!"

"Love does amazing things to children born through male pregnancy," Oliver tells him. "I don't know about children born through regular pregnancy, though."

"I guess we'll just have to see, won't we?"

"Speaking of babies, when do you have your first hologram, Oliver?" Mrs Weasley says curiously.

"Next Wednesday. I'm so excited to see my baby, and James Sirius is looking forward to seeing his little brother or sister, too."

"Brother," James Sirius says matter-of-factly, prodding Oliver's swollen stomach. "I want brother."

"You can't just choose whether the baby is a boy or a girl, dear," Mrs Weasley laughs. "That all depends on what Mother Nature wants the baby to be."

The front door clicks and a sickeningly familiar voice rings through to the living room.

"Not exactly 'Mother Nature' if the parents are both male, is it?" Ron sneers as he saunters into view.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here? I told you to stay away from us, our family and this house!" Mr Weasley spits. "Get out!"

"Are you going to make me," Ron says with a snarl, a dirt-matted beard bouncing as he speaks, "_Arthur_?"

"Ron, just go," Oliver says flatly, wanting to avoid a fight in front of our son. "If you want to fight, do it elsewhere."

"Oh, yeah, I wouldn't want to upset your freak-of-nature son, would I?"

"You disgusting human being," Hermione says through gritted teeth. "How could you say such horrible things about an innocent little boy?"

"Mummy, what's going on?" James Sirius says anxiously.

"We're going home, darling," Oliver responds tersely, and he takes a hold of James Sirius' hand. "Come on, Harry."

"I think I'll hang back for a while and have a nice little _chat_ with Ron. You go on home. I _mean_ it, Oliver."

"But, Harry-"

"_Go_!" I hiss.

I flash a warning glance at my husband as I stand up, and the bewildered look on Mrs Weasley's face tells me that she knows what's about to happen. Yet she doesn't seem to making any attempts to put a stop to it.

"Baby, please," I beg, "go before anything happens to you or James Sirius."

He pulls me into a passionate kiss and then, after saying a hasty, "I love you, Snitchy, stay safe," he Disapparates with James Sirius by his side.

I'm left facing the shabby redhead, who glowers at me as though willing me to burst into flames.

"Shouldn't you be in prison?" I growl.

"Me? Prison? Oh, Harry... Harry, Harry, Harry," he taunts, "they can't send me to prison when the Auror in charge of the case was convicted of at least four counts of murder. Tut, tut, Monica really did me a favour by killing those people, I tell you."

"Wait, so... you're free?" Hermione says in terror. "No prison sentence?"

"No prison sentence," Ron says with a disgusting degree of pride. "Hey, Fred, what are you doing with my girl?"

"_Your_ girl?" Hermione scoffs. "I was your girl until you decided to go knife crazy and attack myself and James Sirius. What makes you think I'd want you back?"

"I have gold."

"Correction, Ronald," Mr Weasley sighs, "_the Weasley family_ have gold. You are no longer a part of it."

"You're throwing me out of my own home?"

"We threw you out ages ago!" Mrs Weasley barks suddenly. "Attacking a woman and child – a baby, no less! Do you really think that we're going to forgive you for something as vile as that? We're a tight-knit family, Ronald, but we know a bad egg when we see one. Go now, before I call an Auror."

"I'd like to see you make me," Ron says with a grimace, and in the blink of an eye he whips his wand out and send a red bolt of light towards Mr and Mrs Weasley, who topple over the back of the sofa and fall out of sight, apparently unconscious.

"That's it!" Fred roars with rage, taking out his own wand, as does Hermione. "I'm taking you out, you bastard!"

Together, they cast Stunning charms of their own towards the fiery attempted-murderer, but they're out of luck; Ron deflects the spells with a mere flick of his wrist and counters with a rapid sequence of violet. Fred and Hermione crash out of the window behind them, almost knocking me over in the process. I duck beneath a few stray shards of glass and my back gets whacked by a plank of chipped lumber.

"Pathetic," Ron says snidely. "Come on, Harry, let's see what _you've_ got."

"I'm warning you, Ron," I say with a confident smirk. He's got nothing on me. "You're no match for me."

"Please, you're not carrying a wand and you lost your freehand abilities when Vinculum Duo vanished. This ends here."

"What are you trying to accomplish? You've got no reason to want me dead."

"I haven't? Of course, why ever would I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, youngest son of the penniless Weasley family, want _the_ Harry James Potter, who's swimming in gold and fame and surrounded by family, dead? I have no reason to possibly wish you a painful and slow death, oh no, because I have everything I want- oh wait, I _don't_. You get everything while I get nothing. A mother and father, a husband, a son, money, a job, anything you could possibly desire, while I'm stuck living in a complete shithole like The Burrow!"

"So that's what all this is about? You can't stand the fact that my life is going better than yours? That's not _my_ problem! I didn't ask for any of the money or fame, and I was getting along fine before my mother and father came back. Yeah, I'm glad they're back, but I haven't been flaunting that fact, have I? Not once have I ever boasted about being famous or rich! Your grounds for wanting me dead are complete rub-"

Before I can finish my sentence, I get blasted through the back of the house onto a bright stretch of grass beneath a cloudless, forget-me-not blue sky. I cough and splutter, a few splinters of wood stuck into my face.

Ignoring the stinging pain in my cheeks, I curl my hands up into a ball and feel a burning flame flickering inside me. I've still got it...

"I'll warn you one last time, Ron," I say menacingly, as Ron vaults over a shattered chest of drawers into the blinding sunlight, "leave now and I won't do any lasting damage."

"What are you gonna do," he snorts, "fry me with your Vinculum Duo powers- oh, I'm sorry, what powers?"

"These ones," I say quickly, and with a quick thrust of my hands in Ron's direction, a crackling tongue of flame fills the air.

It streaks towards him like a blazing butterfly in the wind, but he Disapparates with a crack before it reaches him.

In the split second of hearing another crack just behind me, I surround myself with a purple ball of electricity, and when Ron's pained screams puncture the air, I swing a fist round to connect with his jaw.

He careens away like a cannon ball, not without me sending a few boulders of ice after him, and he lands with a thud a hundred feet away. He isn't moving, but I can see his chest heaving. Now's my time to leave, before he stands up.

It isn't safe for Oliver, James Sirius and I to live at Potter-Wood Cottage anymore, especially is Ron is on the rampage; I need to make contact with Dumbledore soon. Hogwarts is currently our only safe haven. Looks like we'll need to move in sooner than we expected.

I Disapparate just as Ron stands back up, and the last thing I see before my surroundings dissolve into a rainbow of colours is a wave of green light. Although his curse is ineffective – my body is no longer in its line of fire – the sound of rushing air fills my ears. That was a _very_ near-miss.

The fear I feel for my own life is nothing compared to that I have for Oliver's and James Sirius; no sooner do I Apparate outside our cottage do I dash inside and send a Patronus up to the castle. Speed is of the essence...


	22. Curious Curiosity

**Chapter Twenty Two – Curious Curiosity**

"Oliver, get our stuff packed, now!" I shout as I storm into the cottage. "Ron's on the rampage and we're no longer safe here. We've got to get up to Hogwarts as fast as we can!"

"Harry, slow down, what are you talking about?" Oliver says frantically, James Sirius by his side and Snuffles yapping at his heels. "Sweetheart, your face! Come into the kitchen and sit down while I get some warm water and a sponge."

James Sirius takes one look at me and says, "That looks owwie, Daddy."

"It doesn't hurt much, son, don't worry," I assure him, picking him up and going through to the kitchen while Oliver lays a bowl of warm water, a sponge and a set of tweezers on the dining table.

"Sit," he orders, and I do as I'm told. He picks up the tweezers and inches close to my cheeks, from which protrude a painful cluster of splinters. "What happened, honey?"

"We got into a fight," I begin, "he attacked Mr and Mrs Weasley and then Fred and Hermione. He thought I'd be no match for him without my wand but he didn't know that I have my freehand abilities back. I did enough damage to incapacitate him for a short while and took the chance to Disapparate home. Ow!"

"Sorry," Oliver says tonelessly. "Did Ron say what he was doing out of prison, then?"

"He got off scot-free," I say bitterly. "Monica's murders saw to that; they couldn't rely on the evidence she collected because it could have been altered. In other words, we need to be careful; Ron won't settle until we're dead. He's turned so violent in such a short amount of time. I have no idea what happened to him."

"He died and saw the other side," Oliver says enigmatically, gently wiping the soft sponge down one side of my sore cheek and cleaning away a few droplets of blood. "Don't you think it's possible that he might resent being brought back to life?"

"Well, he _did_ say that I had a family while he had nothing. That could be it, I suppose, but really? Attempted murder? Seems a little bit much, doesn't it?"

"Death changes people, Snitchy," Oliver says, grimacing as though thinking of a painful memory. "You remember what I was like before we nearly lost our little angel. I was a protective mother, sure, but look at me now – I won't let him out of my sight."

"That's because you're a doting mother-"

"-who acts that way because he nearly lost his son," Oliver says tightly. "Mr and Mrs Weasley have been affected, too; when Ron came back to life, they would have been ecstatic, but if Ron's been acting strangely around them, especially before he was disowned, it might have had some sort of impact on how _they_ feel. Like I said, death changes people, and not just those who have had direct contact with it. It's like a ripple effect. We killed the Nocturnimagi, and that led Blue Swan to organise a series of attacks against us. Those attacks failed – we killed their agents, too – and we started running into Shadow Dragon agents. Everything we do, everything that happens – especially death – has an impact on everyone else around us. That's life."

"So Ron's actions are justified, is that what you're saying?"

"I'm not saying anything of the sort – this splinter's a little hard to remove so it might be painful – but what I _am_ saying is that the people you used to know and love aren't who they once were. I still love you – hell, I'd throw myself in front of a rampaging dragon for you and James Sirius – and so does James Sirius."

"I get it. You're saying that – ouch - that everybody changes in one or another?"

"Exactly. Ron was bound to break away at one point or another. I think you've just got to realise that he's not your best friend anymore."

"And Malfoy? What about him? He's still in Azkaban thanks to us."

"Ah, who gives two shits about Malfoy?" Oliver laughs. He takes a firm hold of my chin and turns my head left and then right, checking for any other splinters that might be hiding from him. "Right, that's all the splinters gone. I need to check other parts of your body to see if there's any damage-"

"They'll have to wait," I say, holding my hand out in front of me, for a great, glittering phoenix streaks in through the closed window. Patronuses can be rather creepy sometimes...

A booming voice, a kind voice, a wise voice echoes around the kitchen, though the message I receive is one you'd expect in a conversational letter.

"Today will be fine. I understand your urgency to get your family to safety. Hogwarts will always be here to welcome you home."

"What's Dumbledore sending you a Patronus for?" Oliver says thoughtfully.

"We're moving. Today. If we don't, Ron could come knocking at any minute. Please, honey, we've got to get to safety as soon as we can."

"What's all this racket about?" Amy grumbles as she drags herself into the living room. "Harry, what happened to your face?"

I wonder to myself how she could possibly be awake this long, but then I realise that it's only half past ten in the morning and Oliver and I arrived at The Burrow at six.

"Sorry, Amy," I say sincerely. "I forgot you were here. Listen, Ron could be on his way to attack us at any moment. You're welcome to stay here if you like, but I suggest you find somewhere safer. Here's fifty Galleons, it should be enough to get you food and a room for a week at the Three Broomsticks."

I walk over to a drawer next to the sink, count out fifty gold Galleons and proffer it to Amy.

"I couldn't possibly-"

"Yes, you could," I say flatly. "You've got nobody else, nobody to help you survive, so just take our darn money. Please. We're in a rush, you know?"

"Th-Thank you! I promise, you won't regret it. I'll use it only for things I absolutely need. If I don't, you can slap me."

"I actually _will_ if you don't use that money to live," Oliver says warningly. Then his expression softens. "Don't say we don't do anything for you. Now, go on, get out of here before Ron arrives."

"Right. Thank you, really," Amy says, hugging us gratefully and Disapparating out of the kitchen.

"Dobby!" I call, but the House-Elf doesn't appear. "That's weird, where could he be? He usually answers whenever we shout him."

Oliver looks at me unsurely. Then he says, very quietly, "What if something... what if something happened to him?"

My heart sinks. Could it really have been that simple? Could the killer's accomplice have waited for myself and Oliver to leave the house before knocking-off our House-Elf and one of our closest friends? No, Amy would have heard screaming and shouting if that was the case, wouldn't she?

"Dobby!"

"Harry Potter-Wood called?" Dobby squeaks, Apparating with a pop.

"_There_ you are," I sigh in relief. "I already called you once, what happened?"

"House-Elves require the toilet, just as humans do..." he murmurs embarrassedly, and I blush heavily.

"Oh- er... sorry about that. Listen, we need your help. Could you move our belongings up to Hogwarts as soon as you can? We'll explain everything when we're up at the castle. Right now, we're in a bit of a rush."

"O-Of course, sir," he says, giving me a captain's salute.

He snaps his fingers and there's a certain rumbling upstairs, then the floorboards in the ceiling creak as though they've just been relieved of a huge weight, which I suppose is actually the case.

"Where are they?" Oliver asks.

"The Entrance Hall at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sir."

Dobby bows low, his floppy, bat-like ears touching the floor.

"Good. That's good," I say, clasping my hands together and thinking about the next part of my plan. "Our clothes, trunks, are they all there, too? And what about Hedwig and Zeus?"

"Everything is at the castle. Your owls are in the Owlery."

"That's everything, then," I conclude. "Ollie, are you ready to- Ollie!"

Oliver's eyes roll up into the back of his head and he collapses to the floor, smacking his head off a chair leg. This is happening far more often than I can recall. What the hell could be doing it? I start panicking when a small pool of blood oozes from a wound on his scalp onto the tiles.

"Mummy! Daddy, what's wrong with Mummy? Help Mummy, please help Mummy!"

"_Vulnera Sanenteur!_" I chant thrice, watching as the flow of blood is stemmed. At the second instance of casting the spell, the wound knits itself shut, and when I finally end my haunting song, the resulting scar vanishes. "Come on, James, let's get Mummy up to the castle so that he get some help."

I grasp a sobbing James Sirius by the arm, making sure that Oliver is fully within my range of Disapparition, and then the cottage around us disappears in a colourless blur.

"Ah, Harry, there you are, I was wondering when you were going to get-"

"-we need to get Oliver to the Hospital Wing, Albus," I say hurriedly. "He's passed out."

Dumbledore remains silent but charges ahead of us as we dash up to the Hospital Wing, my unconscious husband drifting along beside us like a ghost.

I lower him onto the hospital bed as gently as I can.

"Mummy?" James Sirius sniffs, wiping away a few tears and (heartbreakingly) clinging to Oliver's limp hand. "Wake up, Mummy."

"J-James?" Oliver croaks. "Angel, is that you?"

"Mummy!" James Sirius shouts joyously, and he presses himself as close to Oliver as the metal bed frame will allow, crying at the height of his lungs. "I missed you, Mummy."

"There, there, darling," Oliver soothes, embracing our hysterical son, "Mummy was only taking a little nap."

"How are you feeling?" I say.

Poppy Pomfrey rushes over to the bed carrying a bucket.

"Tired. And sick. Actually, hold that thought..."

He lets go of James Sirius and holds his head above the bucket, facing away from us, and then gives a huge heave. The sound of splashing makes what's happened obvious.

"Better out than in, honey," I say gently, stroking his back as his pregnancy takes its toll on him.

"There's something strange about this pregnancy," says Oliver, who uses the back of his sleeve to remove a few traces of bile from around his mouth. "I feel more... _full_... than I did with James."

"Poppy," I say politely, "could you contact Midwitch Jones and get her to come here, please? I'm worried that there might be something wrong with the baby; Oliver's body didn't react like this when he was pregnant with James Sirius."

"Yes, of course," she nods, and she whisks off to her office to contact St Mungo's.

A few moments later, she returns with the wrinkle-skinned, flyaway-haired Midwitch Winona Jones, who carries with her a crocodile-skin handbag complete with stuffed head and tail.

"Hello, Harry, Oliver," she greets us, smiling as ever, "what can I do for you today?"

"I've been passing out quite often," says Oliver, "and it's starting to worry us, James Sirius included. I had it when I was pregnant with James, but this just feels... different."

"Have you been experiencing any discomfort other than what you'd expect during pregnancy? Has anything seemed out of the ordinary? A feeling of compactness, maybe?"

"Yeah," Oliver says, "my stomach feels like it's fit to bursting."

"I have an idea as to what is causing your discomfort," Midwitch Jones says slowly, "but you'll need a hologram to make sure."

She unclips her bag and takes out her wand.

"Stay very still while I cast the spell, now."

I sit in the chair next to the bed and James Sirius hops onto my lap, while Oliver takes off his shirt and reveals the melon-sized bump on his stomach.

"Baby's coming along beautifully, baby," I comment, kissing him.

"Are you ready to see your child?"

"What do you say, my little angel?" Oliver says kindly to James Sirius. "Ready to see your little brother or sister?"

"Yeah! Love you, Mummy!"

"Aw, I love you too, darling."

"He's such an adorable little boy," Midwitch Jones coos. "You two must be great parents to have raised such a loving child."

"It helps that we're loving towards each other when we're around him," Oliver says lightly. "Can I see my baby, please?"

"Yes, one minute while I cast the spell."

The Midwitch aims her wand at Oliver's stomach, twirls it a few times and then puts it away.

One of the most beautiful things that I have ever heard – aside from Fawkes' hypnotic lament and James Sirius' birth cries – is in the invocation of a hologram. Like the tiniest tinkling of a wind chime caught in a light breeze, the angelic sound that fills my ears eases every nerve in my body, and a rain of sparkling dust falls from nowhere to settle just above Oliver's naval in the form a grainy, but nonetheless perfect, image of our offspring.

Such a breathtaking sight it is to see my two unborn babies floating aimlessly- wait, what? _Babies_?

I sit in stunned silence, my jaw lolling open stupidly, but Oliver stares at the grey haze with tears spilling down his face.

"Twins..." he sobs. "Honey, we're having _twins_..."

Shaking my head to bring myself back to reality, I stammer, "N-No wonder you felt more filled-out; you're carrying two babies!"

"Would you like to know their genders or would you prefer it if it was a surprise?"

"What do you think, Snitchy? We kind of need to know so that we can work out whether we need to buy new baby things."

"You're right. Okay, tell us what we're having."

"Very well. This first child, floating on the left," Midwitch Jones says, taking her wand out again and disturbing the dust while pointing at the baby, "has a small bump in between its legs. That's its penis," (James Sirius pulls open the waistband of his trousers and looks down at himself), "And the child floating on the right is smooth and has no obvious blemishes to the surface between its legs. You're having a boy and a girl – fraternal twins."

"Daddy?" James Sirius says suddenly. "Where do babies come from?"


	23. Family Values

**Chapter Twenty Three – Family Values**

My mouth opens in the form of a small 'O' and Oliver snorts with laughter, his quaking heaves causing the hologram to dissolve into nothingness.

"Well, pumpkin, that's a really, _really_ big question," Midwitch Jones says kindly. "You'll learn all about that when you're older."

"No, it's okay," Oliver says confidently. "Mummy and Daddy will explain it all to you when we get settled in, angel.  
"Come to think of it, _how_ is it possible for two men to conceive? There are no eggs to fertilise."

"You know that it's love that induces and maintains male pregnancy, but what you don't know is that the magic involved creates an egg by taking a strip of DNA from the host body – the mother, which is you, Oliver – and then a piece of the father's DNA – the sperm. What happens next is not dissimilar from male-female fertilisation."

"Wait, so you're saying that whilst Harry and I love each other, our bodies will make eggs?"

"Correct. It's even possible for you to be surrogate mothers, but I don't know if you'd consider that."

"No, thank you," Oliver and I laugh. "We'll carry our own babies and that's that."

"I think... One more thing. With twins, your pregnancy will last twice as long. Yes, I'm aware it's unusual considering it doesn't happen with regular pregnancies, but love can only work on one foetus at a time. Now, I'd estimate your due date to be..." she takes a diary out of her bag and flicks through it. On a blank page, she starts to skim her finger slowly over each date until she comes to a stop. "Yes, that seems about right. The twenty-fifth of December."

"Christmas Day?!" says Oliver, stunned. "Th-That's our first Bonding anniversary! It's a good thing that babies almost never come on their expected date," he adds with a half-relieved sigh.

"We know one thing, at least," I say.

"What's that?"

"We'll get to play dress-up with our daughter when she's born."

"Hey, you're right. She's going to look so adorable! We need to get headbands, skirts, dresses, sandals, frilly socks..."

I sit by and watch on as he tells me all about the many different things we can put on our daughter, and James Sirius simply stares up at me in confusion at the seemingly endless list.

"Just let Mummy dream, little James," I whisper to him. "Looks like you'll be getting a little brother _and_ a little sister. Isn't that exciting?"

"Yeah! And _I'm_ going to be the best big brother in the world!"

"There's a good lad, because Mummy and Daddy are going to need your help when they come along, alright?"

"Okay. Love you, Daddy!"

"Aw, I love you, too, son. Give Daddy a hug, eh?"

I embrace my son as Oliver reels off the last of the many accessories he wants to subject our daughter to. He gets off the bed and picks his shirt up off the floor, then puts it on.

"Is that everything?" he asks the Midwitch, who nods courteously.

"Yes, that's everything, I believe. Are there any questions you have for me before I leave your family in peace?"

"None that I can think of," I respond happily, and Oliver is just as clear on the matter as I am.

"Then, that's everything. We'll schedule one more hologram for the end of November just to check on the progress of the babies and I think that shall be the last time I see you until you give birth. Good day, and I wish you the best of luck with your twin pregnancy, Oliver."

"Goodbye, Midwitch Jones," I wave as she heads back to Poppy's office, and the fireplace back to St Mungo's. "Say goodbye to the nice woman, James."

"Bye, bye!"

"Goodbye, pumpkin. I'll be seeing you again soon."

"Welcome to your new living quarters, Harry," Dumbledore says graciously as he leads into a room that I recognise at once.

Where we stand, decorated with lavish gold-and-red walls and carpets, are the former living quarters of the very man standing beside me. On one side of the room lays a sleeping fire waiting to be prodded awake, whilst on the other side stands a very tall, very dark bookcase filled with what I'm assuming are still Oliver's old Quidditch magazines and almanacs.

"Forget something, did we?" I smirk at him, nodding towards the dusty books. "You, forget about Quidditch? I never thought I'd see the day..."

"Well, when you've got a boyfriend, as you were back then, you start to realise that it becomes quite difficult to hold love for much else. Or, at least, I did."

"I feel terrible for taking away the thing you loved the most..." I say glumly.

"You didn't take it away from me, I still love Quidditch, just it finally became clear to me what mattered most. You. _You_ mattered, and still matter, the most to me. The only ones who matter more to me than you are James Sirius and the twins."

"Good, I'm glad you're putting the kids before me," I say honestly. "If you said I mattered more to you than our children, I'd hex you into oblivion."

"Please, how could my own flesh and blood not be the most important thing in my world?" Oliver says brightly as he picks James Sirius up. "I love _you_ to death, Harry, I love James Sirius to death, and I'm sure as hell going to smother these twins with love."

I take another look around at our new home and see that our possessions have already been brought up and unpacked. An extension has been added on, making the whole apartment look quite strange compared to what I'm used to; instead of a linear path with a door at either side – one heading to the bathroom, the other heading to the bedroom – I find that it's now slightly curved, like some sort of twisted tunnel. On each inward curve, of which there are four, is a door. Two of them are open – the bathroom and bedroom – but the other two are shut. I deduce that they lead into separate bedrooms.

"Take a look around at your new home," Dumbledore says, bowing low. "Dobby is already at work with the other House-Elves in ensuring that the castle is clean. They're getting along swimmingly. Oh, one more thing before I leave you to your own devices: Gryffindor are in need of a new Head of House. Would you-?"

"Yeah, I'll be the Gryffindor Head of House!" I say excitedly. "Thank you so much, you won't regret this!"

"I should hope not," Dumbledore says with what I'm sure is a flicker of a smile. He walks over the door but stops as he steps over the threshold. "I'll leave you all to get settled in and I wish you, Harry, the best of luck in your career as a teacher. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Albus, thank you for making me a part of the school once again."

"Yeah, thanks for welcoming our family here, Dumbledore."

"Bye, Fumblemore!"

Dumbledore leaves our living quarters, chuckling merrily.

"No, no, darling, it's_ Dumbledore_," Oliver corrects James Sirius. "Say it: _Dum-bell-door_."

"Dum... bell... door... Dumbelldoor... Dumbledore!"

"There we go! You're such a fast learner, angel, Mummy is so, so, _so_ proud of you! Mummy's proud of Daddy, too!"

He grabs my arms and gives a very sharp yank, causing me to trip over my own shoe and stumble over to him. Our lips become entangled once again, not without James Sirius giving his ever-disapproving opinion, and our tongues gently curl around each other like inquisitive worms.

"That's just a warm-up..." Oliver murmurs. "Just wait until James Sirius is asleep tonight and I'm going to make you scream into the pillow."

"I count on it."

I bring my hand up to stroke Oliver's arm, and then I ruffle James Sirius' fluffy, jet-black hair.

"I love you both so much," I say with tears in my eyes.

"Daddy, why are you crying?"

"Daddy's just really happy to have you and Mummy," I sniff, and I place a kiss to my son's forehead.

I make an attempt at kissing Oliver, too, but James Sirius slaps me, quite painfully, in the mouth, saying, "No kissing! Icky!"

"James Sirius Potter-Wood, you do _not_ slap Daddy!" Oliver scolds him with an accusing finger.

Oh no... I've been dreading the day that we'd start seeing this.

James Sirius' lower lip trembles and his eyes shine. He starts sniffing and gulps his breaths, all while looking so angelically innocent despite his misbehaviour. My heart pangs as those big, jewel-bright hazel eyes bore into mine, and when the first of his tears drip down his cheeks, I'm filled with a sympathetic grief.

"D-Daddy... want D-Daddy..." he cries, holding his arms out as though trying to break free from Oliver.

"James Sirius, you can't just hit people like that," Oliver explains to him gently, but he doesn't want to hear it.

"Daddy," he says huffily. "Want Daddy. Mummy is mean. Don't love you anymore."

Oliver's face falls, but he gives James Sirius to me, croaking, "Going in the bath," and stalks off into the bathroom.

"James, that wasn't a very nice thing to say," I say as I sit on the sofa with my son on my lap.

Poor Oliver, I can only imagine what it must feel like to have your child say something as devastating as that.

"Mummy loves you. He told you off because you were being naughty. You aren't to hit people, it's not nice. Look at me, James," the little boy gazes wetly at me. "When you told Mummy that you didn't love him anymore, it really hurt his feelings. He's crying in the bath right now because all he wants is for you to be a good and happy person. Now, did you really mean what you said?"

James Sirius, still crying profusely, shakes his head slowly, sobbing, "Want Mummy. Want to give Mummy a hug."

"Okay, let's go and see Mummy, then, eh?"

With James Sirius still in my arms, I make my way through to the bathroom, where steam seeps from under the doorway.

"You wait out here while I talk to Mummy," I instruct James, and he nods.

I head into the room.

The bathroom looks just how I remember it; a large, marble bathtub, circular in shape, sits in the centre of the candlelit room. Around the outside are thousands of minute candles lined in perfect, curved rows, making the whole scene look a lot like some sort of ritual chamber.

Oliver is in the bath, splashing water aimlessly over his body and not making a single sound except for a few deep, shuddering breaths.

"Ollie, honey, are you alright?" I say quietly, taking a tentative step forward. "James Sirius didn't mean what he said..."

"I know he didn't, he's just a child, after all, but that doesn't mean it wasn't painful to hear," Oliver says tonelessly without looking at me. "Harry, be honest, do you think I was cut out to be a parent?"

"Yes, I do. You're an absolutely fantastic mother. It's only natural that James Sirius is going to be upset when he gets told off."

"But I feel so guilty about it," Oliver says, still not looking at me. "To hear your own flesh and blood say something like that... someone you nurtured for months... someone you _gave birth_ to... Harry, it's completely devastating."

"I can only imagine what it must have felt like... James Sirius, you can come in now."

"M-Mummy?" James Sirius says sadly, fresh tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Angel..." Oliver sighs, turning round at last. "What is it?"

"I'm s-sorry... Love you, Mummy."

"Oh, Mummy loves you, too, little James," Oliver says, grinning happily through his sadness. "Do you want a cuddle?"

James Sirius nods, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor as he walks slowly over to the bathtub.

"Come here, you."

Oliver wraps his soaking arms around James Sirius, who immediately starts giggling when Oliver starts nibbling playfully on his neck.

"Mummy's going to eat you all up!"

I smile to myself as James Sirius' delighted squawks fill the bathroom, and suddenly the atmosphere in the apartment is definitely a lot lighter than what it was.

"I'm so sorry I shouted at you, darling," Oliver apologises endlessly, holding James Sirius tightly. "Mummy would never, _ever_ want to upset you."

"I love you, Mummy..."

"I love you too, my little angel."

Oliver sniffs a couple of times, as though trying to find a peculiar scent, but then I smell it as well. It's coming from James Sirius.

"James, have you gone potty?" Oliver asks him, but James Sirius shakes his head. "Harry, can you check his underwear? I want to make sure he hasn't soiled himself."

I check my son but he's completely clean.

"Hold it," I say as my nose drifts past James Sirius' armpits. "I know someone who needs a bath..."

"No! Don't want bath!" James Sirius squeals and runs from the bathroom.

"James, get back here," Oliver commands, and in a matter of seconds our son comes traipsing back in through the door. "How about..."

James Sirius hangs onto his every word.

"... you get a bath with Mummy and Daddy?"

"Yeah! Bath time! Bath time! Mummy! Daddy!"

"A family bath time?" I say curiously. "Are you sure we'll all be able to fit in there at once?"

"It managed to fit both of us last year, and there was plenty of room to spare," Oliver winks at me. "Yeah, you know what I'm talking about, don't you? Our first night together... it seems so long ago..."

"Yeah... One of the best nights of my life and I'll never forget it. I'm so glad I got Bonded to you, Ollie, and I can't believe that we're getting Consummated. The final step... just one more step and we'll be together forever."

My face closes in on Oliver's and Oliver's closes in on mine, but I see James Sirius scowling adorably out the corner of my eye.

"Best not," I smirk, just as our lips make contact. "Don't want to upset James, now, do we?"

"I guess not," Oliver laughs, and he helps James undress and puts him in the bath.

I take my own clothes off and climb into the bath too.

It's surprisingly cosy in the tub as the hot water flows over my weary muscles, which is more than I can say for the bathtub we had at Potter-Wood Cottage. I, Oliver and James Sirius can move about freely with plenty of room to breathe, and after spending ten minutes getting cleaned, we start to unwind.

"Mummy?"

"Yes, angel?"

"Where do babies come from?"

"Ah, crap, I forgot I'd tell him where they came from..." I mumble, but Oliver simply chuckles.

"Well, darling, when a man and a woman – or two men, in Mummy and Daddy's case – love each other very much, they like to get close and do what grown-ups call 'making love'. A man puts his penis – the wiggly thing in between his legs; you, myself and Daddy all have one – into the woman's vagina. When making love, the man ejaculates – releases – a lot of little tadpoles called sperm. The sperm go on an adventure inside the woman until they find an egg. When the sperm comes into contact with the egg, one of them goes inside it and a baby starts to grow. When the baby is ready to be born, the woman pushes it out."

"What about two men, like you and Daddy?"

"It's the same, except one man puts his penis into the other man's bottom."

"I remember Daddy being on top of you..." James Sirius blushes furiously. "Were you making babies?"

I glance scarcely at Oliver, who glances back at me. No point in lying.

"Yes and no," Oliver says, and when James Sirius gives him a confused look, he carries on, "It's possible for a man and a woman, two men or even two women to make love without making babies. All it takes is a little spell to stop the sperm. Mummy and Daddy were using one of those spells when you saw us."

"Did you use that spell before you made me?"

"No," Oliver smiles. "You were Daddy's special gift to Mummy. We didn't use that spell when we made your little brother and sister, either. They're just waiting inside my stomach to be born, now."

"Come on, get out!" James Sirius yells at the bump on Oliver's stomach, and we both break down into fits of laughter. "I want to play with you!"

"James," Oliver wheezes, "Mummy's body has to be ready to give birth to them."

For the next twenty minutes, James Sirius quizzes us about the different names we could give the twins, but we don't have any names we've agreed upon yet. For our second son, Daniel, John, Liam, Sean, Albus and Severus are possibilities, whereas possibilities for our daughter's name include Lily, Luna, Lavender, Hermione, Sian, Alex and Lexi.

Once we're out of the bath, dried and dressed, we move into James Sirius' bedroom, which has already been unpacked. His toys stand tidily in one corner, as does his bed. Oliver, being the Quidditch-lover he is, insisted upon James Sirius having the Holyhead Harpies crest on his bedding.

"Time for bed, angel," Oliver tells him, pulling back the covers.

"I want to stay up with you and Daddy!" he whines.

"You've got to go to sleep, James, you'll be tired if you don't. You've already been awake half an hour more than you should."

"Mummy's right, James. I tell you what: you go to bed now and we'll get you a nice new toy during the week. How does that sound?"

"Okay..." he says, hanging his head in disappointment.

Oliver takes a clean set of adorable, baby-blue pyjamas out of the cupboard and changes James Sirius into them.

"Aw, look at you!" Oliver coos. "My little angel, so _cute_!"

Squealing with joy, James Sirius runs across the room and dives into bed. He grabs his covers and pulls them quickly over his body, then hides beneath them, poking his head out at times, looking amusingly like a meerkat.

"Night, night, Mummy!" he says cutely. "Night, night, Daddy! Love you!"

"We love you, too, darling. One last hug before sleep?"

"Okay!"

Oliver embraces our son and shows the signs of never wanting to let go; his eyes scrunch up and his breaths are long and drawn-out. When Oliver finally lets go, James Sirius has already fallen asleep on his shoulder, so I simply kiss the little boy on the forehead, help Oliver tuck him into bed and make my way out of the bedroom.

When I sit down on the sofa in the living room, I send a ball of flame from my open palm into the grate.

"Talk about a tiring day..." I sigh as the fire roars into life, exercising my shoulder to get rid of some of the aches from my earlier fight with Ron. "It feels great to finally have a secure home..."

"Tell me about it. I don't need to worry about James Sirius' safety as much while we're here. We can focus on our more... _carnal_ activities..."

"I'm in the mood..." I murmur, pulling him close until our faces are a mere inch apart. "I need to feel you inside me tonight..."

"Here, or in the bedroom? Your call."

"Bedroom, I think. I want romance and comfort above all else..."

"Just like always. Okay, sweetheart, off to bed we go."

Before I get a chance to pick myself up, Oliver splashes a little bit of palm-conjured water over the fire, making it sizzle into nonexistence, and then he picks me up in a bridal lift.

"Ollie, what are you doing?" I giggle, but it's prematurely cut-off by his smothering lips.

"You want romance, you're getting romance," he smirks cheekily.

"Aw, you're so sweet, but shouldn't it be _me_ carrying _you_? You're pregnant with twins, after all."

"Sorry, too late!" he says quickly, laughing and running from the living room and into the bedroom with such speed that I almost whack my head off the doorframe.

"Ollie?" I say inquisitively as he lays me on the bed.

"Yeah, honey?"

"We've always made love on top of the covers, right?"

"Yeah... what are you getting at?"

"Don't you think it would be more romantic if we got involved _beneath _the covers?" I assume my most sensual voice. "Imagine the feeling of being pressed up to me, us both sweating like wild animals whilst you push every inch of your meaty dick inside me. The soft fabric of the duvet flows over your back like water and the bed sheets stroke your balls into submission. And when you finally come, you fill me up with your succulent juices as I scream your name, painting our upper bodies with my sweet cum..."

Oliver gives me a very long, penetrating stare and gulps hard. From what I can tell, he's running those images through his mind in a rapid sequence, and the bulge I see arise in his crotch tells me that my way with words has certainly had a profound effect on him.

He leans down towards me and ensnares my lips. His tongue unravels from his mouth to battle mine, but I draw myself away momentarily and shift beneath the covers, throwing my shirt, trousers, socks and boxer shorts to the floor. I'm rock hard beneath the sheets, but Oliver can't see that. He makes quick work of his own clothes and lets them drop to the floor where he stands. Then he climbs into bed with me.

We start off by kissing slowly, sweet, with little tongue involvement but a whole heap of passion. I allow my hands to wander over his immaculate frame, kneading the smoothness of his bronze skin with the tips of my fingers all the way down to his firm bubble-butt. I even take the time to slip a naughty finger into the valley I find and prod at his hole. He gasps atop me, sucking air out of my mouth. I prod again, and this time the tip slips in, completely dry.

"Ah!" Oliver yelps, but I'm sure I see a hint of pleasure in the agonised look he gives me. "Honey... please, take it out..."

"Okay," I say, kissing him apologetically.

I withdraw my unwelcome finger from his arse and his anguished hisses fill the room.

"I don't know why I tried that without lube. I'm so sorry, honey."

"Hey, it's alright, you were just doing what you thought I'd enjoy. I probably would have if you'd used lube..."

I kiss him once more, showing my highest remorse, and then he dips towards my neck.

My body isn't quite sure what it wants to do while Oliver's tongue laps hungrily at my collar bone; one part of me arches my crotch into his but another writhes wantonly.

Oliver's fiery lips blaze a trail down my upper body and stop at my nipples. He unleashes his excitable tongue upon my body yet again, but this time he adds an extra tool to his arsenal. Worrying the rosy bugs in between his teeth, he pinches them, somewhat painfully, and then soothes the dull stinging by licking long, cool stripes across their surface.

"Ollie..." I breathe, clawing at his back.

"How does that feel, sweetheart?"

"So amazing... Making love with you is like a new adventure every time, my love..."

He doesn't respond to that, but I can't inquire as to why, either; I'm being smothered by his mouth before I can even attempt to speak.

I'm relinquished soon after, but I still can't speak because I'm far too focussed on trying to regulate my breathing, which I completely give up on when Oliver's moist snake slithers down the rest of my torso. But it comes to an abrupt standstill just above my navel. I know what comes next; almost a year of being with Oliver tells me that he has a thing for small, erotically-sensitive holes.

As I correctly predict, he curls his tongue around the outside of my sensitive ring and then plunges it into the black depths of my stomach. Almost instantly, I start scrabbling wildly at the bed sheets and I can't help but call his name as he meticulously tweaks my nipples with his fingers.

"Ollie, please..." I pant. "Please, lower..."

Hard hands press into the muscles on my chest and abs, and Oliver drags himself away from my navel with an avid glint in his eyes.

"Mummy's craving meat..." he winks as he pushes himself further down my body.

My dick, my roaring, aching dick, stands to attention, waiting for Oliver's talented tongue and masterful mouth to give it the attention it craves.

"Honey... eat me up..." I plead, sweat already beading onto my forehead. "You're driving me crazy..."

Oliver grins up at me and blows on my member, which twitches from the sudden blast of cold air. He places his lips at the root of my cock and peppers it with a few light kisses before sweeping his tongue broadly up the shaft.

"Ohhh..."

The only way for me to tell that he plans on engulfing my cock right now is from the sudden heat that ghosts across the leaking tip. Another streak of wet and then a full nosedive from Oliver cause my body to go into convulsions. His velvety throat constricts around my cock, but he doesn't gag; we both learned to suppress that reflex ages ago. Instead, all I receive is a violent barrage of humming and electric sensations that threaten to disintegrate me beneath the covers.

It's strange to have Oliver working on me down there while I can't see him. In place of where his head should be, all I can see is a plump moving lump. Despite this, it isn't that much different from a blind person's other four senses strengthening, or I assume so; not being able to watch him makes the whole experience extremely exciting, and I notice that the pleasure I get from his ascending-descending movements are that much more intense.

The sounds from Oliver's throat become deliciously louder, and my dick starts to vibrate so fiercely that I think the cum might be shaken out instead of sucked. But then he stops moving as far down my shaft and the deepest throat penetration I give him is just at the back of his mouth. I'm sure he's teasing me...

I realise that I'm wrong when Oliver withdraws off my cock and his heads pops out of the covers.

"You look... _windswept_..." he comments.

He stares at me and I stare back. We lay for a few seconds in total silence, but then a smile breaks the both of our faces and we collapse into hysterical laughter.

"Windswept? _Windswept_?!" I wheeze. "You'd be windswept, too, if your husband had been blowing you away!"

"Hey, I've been windswept lots of times, especially because of you! But now, it's time for the main event. Are you ready, sweetheart?"

"I'm always ready," I smile, kissing him passionately.

With Oliver holding himself up on the palm of his hands, there's a gap between our bodies that lets me see what's happened beneath the covers. He gives his throbbing cock a few quick strokes and I watch as it becomes lubricated, then he wipes his finger once, twice, thrice, along my hole and makes me nice and slippery.

"Wow, you're so hard..." I say, sounding impressed. "That thing's going to tear me apart, isn't it?"

"Not if I take it slowly with you," he says, gazing warmly at me. "You know what? I'm going to go the slowest I've ever gone with you. Ready for some slow, sweet loving, honey?"

"Do it."

I watch as he grasps the base of his dick and guides it to my hole, which is so used to having him inside that it positively quakes with desire and opens, as if automatically, around him.

He gasps as the muscles within me draw him into their silky depths, and before he's even fully-sheathed I can sense that he's desperate to start thrusting.

"Baby, if you want to thrust, you can," I say kindly, stroking his arm and pushing my hips up to encourage him into motion. "I want you to enjoy this, too."

"I love you so much, sweetheart," Oliver murmurs in my ear, and I throw my head back into the pillows again as we start a horizontal tango on the bed.

The covers on top of us add a new sense of intimacy to our lovemaking, and as our upper bodies graze against one another in the fluid movements of sex, I find it very easy to focus on holding Oliver close to me while he pushes and pulls.

He rubs over the small bulb inside me and I dissolve into incoherent babbling, struggling for breath.

"Ohhhhhhhhh... Ollie... my wonderful, precious, caring Ollie... I love you so much, honey..."

"Ohhhhhh... I love – Ngh – I love you, too... Holy shit... this feels so fucking good..."

"It does, doesn't it?" I try to smile, but it ends up being mutilated into something more painful.

"Harry, are you alright?" Oliver says concernedly, and his thrusts stop immediately. "You look like you're in pain."

"It doesn't hurt, at all," I assure him. "My face screwed up the way it did because sex with you has messed up my motor functions."

Laughing, Oliver resumes his heavenly thrusts, and my head sinks further into the bed in the throes of ecstasy.

To have my husband so deep inside me, loving me so slowly, feels as though my life would be nothing if I didn't have him with me, and with every heavenly caress of my prostate, I ascend higher and higher until the world around me is nothing more than a pinprick.

With my mind a muddle of emotions, all that comes from my mouth is an endless stream of loving obscenities and sweet nothings that fill not just the room, but the house as well.

"Ollie, I'm so close..." I moan, scraping my nails down his back, knowing that he'll feel it for days afterwards.

I wrap my legs around his waist and encourage him to pick up speed.

"It's alright, honey," I say gently at the apologetic look he gives me, "it's been so fantastic... so _romantic_ so far... it really is fine. Please, pound me until I plaster the walls with cum..."

He nods. He kisses me, tenderly at first, but as his thrusts increase rapidly, the pressure rockets to crushing. It's like Oliver's trying to start a fire in between my legs; his thrusts are more than just pleasure but remain far away from the edges of pain.

When we make love like this, we're no longer two separate people; his thrusts penetrate me so deeply and I give myself to him so wholly and unconditionally that we momentarily unify in every aspect of our existence, and I wonder just how amazing lovemaking with him is going to be once we're Consummated.

"OLLIE!" I scream, and with a final, bed-rocking shudder, I come harder than I've ever came before.

Just as I promised, the wall above the bed is covered with a thick sticky whiteness that I'm proud to say Oliver helped me produce.

Speaking of the man himself, he burrows his face into my neck and his chest starts to heave against me as I feel, for the thousandth time, his sweet cum being unloaded into my willing arse. He finds it very difficult to breathe as he licks my neck aimlessly, but when I tell him that he can stop, he simply looks up at me. He kisses me so lightly that might not have been a kiss at all, but I return it with much enthusiasm and whisper constantly, "I love you, my wonderful man."

"I love you, too, Snitchy..." Oliver says breathily, his beautiful hazel eyes shimmering in the moonlight flooding through the window.

He sweeps a calming hand through my hair and peppers my forehead with kisses.

The tiny pitter-patter of feet along the hallway outside tells me that James Sirius has woken up, but Oliver's already got it – he pushes his hand in the direction of the door and, as James Sirius tries to pull the handle down, it remains firmly in place.

"Mummy, what was that noise?" James Sirius calls, his voice muffled by the wood.

"Nothing, angel, go back to bed, eh?"

"Okay, Mummy. Love you!"

"There's a good boy. Love you, too, darling."

Oliver turns his attention towards me and smiles lovingly.

"Now, where were we?"

"I think we were just about to go to sleep with you inside me," I say, my eyelids drooping slightly. "Please, don't pull out. It's comfortable lying with you like this."

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

Oliver nuzzles his head into my chest and I enclose my arms around his torso. Saying, "Goodnight, my one true love," I rest my chin on Oliver's head, and in a matter of moments I'm out like a light, completely at peace with my current situation.


	24. It Runs in the Blood

**Chapter Twenty Four – It Runs in the Blood**

The next morning, Oliver and I are both in the exact same position that we were in last night, except that Oliver's cock has been ejected from my body and now rests comfortably in between my butt cheeks.

"Snitchy..." Oliver says with a contented sigh, and he purrs against me.

"Hello, my love," I croon.

Sweeping a mindless hand through his hair and stopping halfway, I take the time to stare lingeringly into his beautiful, hazel eyes, before I reach out with my lips to kiss the first part of his face I can find, which just so happens to be his mouth.

"Last night was mind-blowing."

"It really was, wasn't it? I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you, too, baby. I think we need to clean up a little bit, though; there's cum everywhere," I laugh.

Oliver takes his hand out of the covers and gives it a little wave, and I watch as the white stains along the wall and up our bodies pop into nonexistence.

We hear small feet walking along the hallway outside. Then a knock at the door announces James Sirius' wakefulness.

"Mummy?"

"What is it, angel?"

"Hungry..."

"Let's make you some breakfast then, eh?" Oliver says, getting off of me and standing straight, flexing his rippling muscles.

He tries to bend over to pick up his clothes, but the large bump on his stomach stops him.

"It's alright, honey, I've got it," I chuckle, picking them up for him and handing them to him. "Those babies are coming along really nicely."

"You say that," says Oliver with a hint of jealousy, "but you aren't the one that's going to be squeezing them out. After you've watched me have James Sirius and these two, I can't see you giving birth anytime soon."

"Hey, I'd like to do my fair share," I say indignantly, pulling my own clothes on after helping Oliver into his. "How could you say such a thing?"

"I just thought that-"

"That what? That seeing you uncomfortable carrying children would stop me from wanting to carry them? If anything, seeing you in the discomfort you're in is making me want to get pregnant even more; I want to take the discomfort away."

"You're sweet," Oliver says, kissing me gently as we go into the living room, "but pregnancy is no walk in the park."

"Mummy, where's the kitchen?" James Sirius asks.

"In a super secret place," Oliver whispers to him, and he takes him over to a blank patch of wall next to the fireplace.

Oliver taps the wall thrice upwards and twice to the right. The whole length of the wall shudders, but then the part that Oliver tapped gives way to reveal a small porthole, which then spreads outwards until it forms a perfect archway leading to an immaculate, white kitchen complete with cupboards, refrigerator, freezer, toaster, microwave and oven.

"How long has this been here?!" I gasp.

"Since before I lived here last year. I can't understand why they didn't just add the kitchen on as a regular room, though. Anyway, what would you like for breakfast, angel?"

"Cheese!"

Oliver goes into the fridge to grab the block of cheese, but it seems that we don't have any.

"We don't have any cheese left, sorry, darling. Just have some toast, eh?"

"With jam?"

After quickly scouring the cupboard, Oliver takes out a jar of strawberry jam and puts a slice of bread in the toaster.

"Toast and jam! Toast and jam!" James Sirius sings cutely, skipping back into the living room and jumping onto the sofa. "Cartoons! Daddy, come watch cartoons with me!"

"Yeah, _Daddy_, go and watch some cartoons," Oliver smirks cheekily.

I give him an incredulous glance, smiling amusedly, and then I walk into the living room to put the TV on for James.

"Daddy, watch cartoons with me!" James begs as I walk back into the kitchen.

Oliver looks at me expectantly as he spreads jam on the slice of toast, and then he passes it on a plate to me.

"So, what's the plan for today?" I ask Oliver as we sit at either side of our son, who munches happily on his toast and jam.

"Love you, Mummy! Love you, Daddy!"

"We love you, too, son," Oliver says, kissing James Sirius on the cheek. "Why don't we go on a little field trip around the school? We'll get to see places that were out-of-bounds to students."

"You'll have already seen them, though, haven't you?"

"I didn't really have the time last year, what with the Nocturnimagi and starting a relationship with you and everything. It'll be interesting to see it all."

Oliver and I sit with James Sirius and watch TV, laughing not because of the cartoons, but because of our son's adorableness whenever he finds something funny; his laughter never fails to brighten our day, and a few hours later, once we've had breakfast and our morning routine has been completed (today is my turn to clean James Sirius' teeth using his little blue toothbrush), we head on down the Astronomy Tower and out into the bright sunshine.

The forget-me-not blue sky hangs high over our heads and the great, burning orb makes the backs of our necks prickle as we stride across the lawn, James Sirius clinging to my hand, towards the first tower on the left. This is a place that I've never been anywhere near before, having had no lessons or special meetings that took place there. I wonder what it was used for...

"As far as rumours go, there's supposed to be a poltergeist in here far worse than Peeves," Oliver mutters to me, although I'm not sure why he's keeping his voice so low. "Apparently, three students were killed a hundred years ago when they were pushed from the upper floor by the poltergeist."

"You're bringing our _son_ and I here, and you're only just telling me?" I say in horror.

"Relax, there were hunts and searches all over the place for the poltergeist, but Peeves was found to be the only one. Don't worry about it. Nobody comes in here anymore. It's been disused ever since."

"I'll try not to," I say unsurely, and from the sudden tight grasp on my hand, I assume that James Sirius has been listening to the conversation.

"Frightened," he says anxiously, tangling himself around my leg. "Daddy, frightened..."

"Hey, it's alright, son," I say calmingly, "nothing's going to hurt you while Daddy's here."

I pick him up and let him sit on my shoulders.

"This is fun!" James Sirius giggles. "Daddy, can I sit on your shoulders all the time?"

"Of course you can," I smile.

We reach a wooden door with a rusted handle, even though it looks as though it's been used quite recently.

"Keep your head down, James, be careful you don't hit it on anything."

As we walk through the door, narrowly avoiding a disgusting, huge spider's web, I realise that we're standing inside an old bell tower. Overhead, hundreds of metres up, dangles a disused bell the size of Snape's dungeon. It sways dangerously as though it's been caught in the breeze that flows in through the empty high windows, and I'm quick to get Oliver and James Sirius out of the way in case it falls.

"Harry, there's nothing to worry about," Oliver tries to comfort me, but it isn't exactly working, "the bell is held up by magic; it's not about to come crashing down and kill all of us."

"Thanks for that reassurance," I say sarcastically, and I take them onto the first step of the spiral staircase.

At least it's a lot safer than standing directly under something that has the potential to crush you to death.

For a split second, I'm sure I see movement at the top of the stairs.

"I thought you said nobody comes in here," I say, squinting suspiciously upwards.

"They don't. Honey, you need to calm down. We're safe here; with Dumbledore around – and the sheer size of the castle, actually – nobody can touch us."

"We thought that with the Nocturnimagi," I say darkly. "Look where that got us."

"The Nocturnimagi are gone," he says confidently, and I know what the source of movement was; a school owl flutters its wings on the banister on the top floor and soars out of the window. I breathe a sigh of relief. "The biggest threat to us now is Ron, and he isn't even aware we're here."

"That's true. But still, I don't feel comfortable being here. Please, can we leave and go somewhere else?"

"If you want to," he says lightly. "Come on, then, you loveable yellow-belly, let's go somewhere with less history. The last thing I want is for you or James Sirius to get scared."

He takes us away from that horrid place, much to my relief, and instead we end up going somewhere more family-friendly; the Herbology greenhouses.

James Sirius loves seeing the different plants, and he particularly enjoys watching Oliver and myself slap the Venomous Tentacula when its feelers sneak up behind us. Whose idea was it to put this darn thing outside, anyway? Professor Sprout, I daresay...

"Stop!" I say loudly when James Sirius goes to uproot a horribly familiar stump.

Green leaves stick out of a mound of earth, and even though it looks beautiful from the surface, I know for a fact that this is a grown-up Mandrake. James Sirius jumps in fright but releases the stem immediately. He shows the signs of crying, just like yesterday, but I comfort him before he has a chance.

"Daddy wasn't shouting at you, James," I tell him calmly, hugging him and stroking his back as his eyes well with tears. "You just frightened me. Daddy doesn't want you to get hurt by the nasty plant."

My stomach groans and I feel a slight twitch of pain. I probably should have had breakfast when James Sirius did. Oliver shows signs of hunger, too, so we agree to leave the greenhouses after making sure that we're all dirt-free and then head into Hogsmeade for a bite to eat.

The rest of the day seems to go faster than any other I've experienced, but at least James Sirius enjoyed himself looking around his new home.

He took a particular interest in the Quidditch pitch, much to Oliver's delight, and he even talked about wanting his own broom when he saw the old broom cupboard in the Gryffindor changing rooms.

Down in Hogsmeade, I'm surprised to see that an entire shopping mall has popped into existence just behind the last row of houses. It's strange considering it wasn't there yesterday, but I guess the Muggle company behind it must have paid for magical services in order to construct it faster. Still, I wouldn't have expected it to be built _that_ quickly...

"Oh, let's go and buy James Sirius a new toy!" Oliver says excitedly. "We can use the money that Mrs Weasley gave us for him."

"And then some," I smirk. "We'll buy him a toy out of our own cash, too. I've got a hundred Galleons in my pocket, why not use that?"

"All of it?" Oliver says with raised eyebrows, as we pace up to the tall, sparkling front windows of the mall. "What do you plan on buying?"

"Well, we'll get James Sirius a toy B-R-O-O-M-S-T-I-C-K, if they have wizarding shops here," I make every attempt possible to stop James Sirius hearing what our surprise is for him, "and then I think he'll enjoy playing fetch with Snuffles, so we can buy the Crup a squeaky bone."

"I know the perfect thing for James," Oliver says suddenly. "Let's see if there are any toy Golden Snitches..."

We run around the huge mall looking for a single sign of a wizarding shop, mainly a Quidditch one, and pass countless Muggle clothes stores, ice cream stands ("Can I have one, Mummy?"), and even a water fountain where a square sign reads:

_Wishing fountain. Throw a penny (or Knut) into its depths and make any wish._

Oliver and I snort; one of the many benefits of Vinculum Duo is that the user can make wishes and have them come true, providing they don't majorly affect the fabric of reality. Although we could easily just wish that James Sirius had a broomstick, we want to do things the right way and actually buy one for him; we'll tell James all about his special powers when he's older, but for now we just want him to live a normal life, or as normal a life as being the biological son of two men will allow.

After much incredibly irritating jostling from other customers and many secret hexes from me (an old woman gets her bag stuck to the floor, a young man falls over after I mess up his laces and a snobbish woman in her mid-forties is pelted with fruit from a nearby stall), we finally find the shop we've been looking for.

"Looks like Quality Quidditch Supplies is branching out," Oliver comments as we step inside the stuffy shop. "Wow, it's hot in here..."

"Daddy, too warm..." James Sirius complains, and I place my hand on his head.

One short, sharp blast of the Glacius charm cools him down instantly, and then I do it to Oliver and myself.

The layout is virtually the same as the one in Diagon Alley; along one side of the shop are several shelves filled with figurines, whilst the back of the shop holds hundreds of team robes. The till stands to the other side, and a small, tight-lipped woman with a bitter expression serves a few customers.

"Daddy, Daddy, look! Broomsticks!" James Sirius squeals. "Can I have one? Pleeeeeease?"

"You can have a big one when you're older, James," Oliver says patiently, and his eyes flash in the direction of what I'm assuming are toy broomsticks. "Take James Sirius to see the toy Snitches."

"Okay. How long should I keep him occupied for?"

"About ten minutes," Oliver says, placing a kiss to my cheeks before walking away. "I love you, honey."

"Love you, too. Be quick; this one's got a small attention span."

"Daddy, where is Mummy going?"

"Mummy?" a gaggle of elderly women nearby mutter confusedly. "Why did he just call that man his mother?"

"Because he _is_ his mother," I say ardently, and the women glare at me. "What? Is natural conception a foreign notion to you lot, or something?"

"Natural, indeed..." one of them says darkly. "That poor child is going to grow up thinking he's got a mother _and_ a father."

"Daddy, what are those women talking about?"

"Your 'mummy' isn't really your mummy, dear. Your daddy had to make you with another woman."

I can't believe anyone could be so vile, despicable and cold-hearted to tell a little boy such a horrible lie. With a flourish of my hand and a gush of water, the woman is forced out of the shop through the window, the shattering of glass causing silence to descend over the shop.

"Don't you listen to her, James," I say quickly. "The one you call Mummy _is_ your mummy. You came from him, nobody else, and I helped him make you."

"James, you can't have a man as your mother," another woman says gently, but she gets ejected, too.

"Who's my mummy?" James Sirius says sadly. "Who is she?"

"James, your mummy is a man, the same man that's been loving you since before you were even born," I try to comfort him, hugging him.

Oliver comes back and sees the glassless window, two women lying unconscious outside and another three women standing, horrified, in a far corner. The shop owner comes running over asking what the commotion is all about, but I simply say, "Provoked attack," and leave it at that.

"Honey, what happened?" Oliver says worriedly, hiding the toy broomstick behind his back. "Why is James Sirius crying?"

"Who's my mummy?" James Sirius asks Oliver.

"I am," Oliver tells him. "Oh, come here, darling."

James Sirius remains stuck to my torso, refusing to go to Oliver.

"These bitches told him that you can't be his mother because you're not a woman," I say quietly, then I turn to James Sirius. "James, the man who's loved you all this time is your mummy. You remember what Mummy explained to you yesterday, don't you?"

Oliver's face transforms into a horrifying, grotesque embodiment of sheer rage, and the glare he shoots at the women in the corner is almost enough to set them on fire.

"There are two women unconscious outside; they're the ringleaders."

"How... dare... you..." Oliver breathes menacingly, advancing on them.

"Excuse me, sir, but I'd prefer if you didn't-"

"GET OUT OF MY WAY!"

I've never seen Oliver like this. There's actually steam billowing out from his nostrils and his chest and back are heaving under his anger.

He flicks his wrist and the remaining women are slammed into the ceiling, then crash back down to the floor moments later. He flicks his wrist again, and this time a flaming vine snakes its way around them, tying them together on the floor.

"What gives you the right to tell my son I'm not his mother?" he says in a deadly whisper. "I _carried_ him, _gave birth_ to him, and I've loved him ever since the day he was born.  
"James, you listen to me right now: I _am_ your mummy. You remember what I told you about not needing to be a woman to make babies, don't you? That's how I and Daddy made you."

"M-Mummy?"

"Yes, angel?"

"Mummy!" James Sirius cries, and he dashes out of my grasp towards Oliver, who picks him up and cuddles him tightly.

Tears run down both of their faces as the bystanders watch on, cooing softly at the heart-warming scene before them.

"I'm your mummy, James, nobody else," Oliver sniffs, smiling wetly as he hugs James Sirius. "Ignore anyone that tells you otherwise, alright?"

"O-Okay, Mummy. Love you..."

"Oh, I love you, too, darling. My precious little boy... Look, Mummy got you a little present."

"How much are that toy broomstick and a Golden Snitch?" I ask the shopkeeper as though nothing has gone on, but she gives me a disgusted look, remaining silent. "Fine, then, we'll just take them. Don't say we stole them; it's not as though we didn't want to pay-"

"Wait!" she sighs. "Fifty seven Galleons and three Sickles."

"Good."

I hand her fifty eight Galleons, let her keep the change (she likes me, all of a sudden), and walk out of the shop with Oliver and James.

The women are awake at last and, before they can hurl more anti-male-pregnancy remarks at us, Oliver shouts, "It's called magic!" and fixes the window with a quick wave of his hand.

As a single family unit, we make our way out of the shopping mall, privately agreeing not to come back unless it's absolutely necessary. It doesn't take a genius to work out that Oliver is going to be even more loving towards James Sirius than he already has, but I figure the more Oliver shows our son he loves him, the better; today was a really close call, and I don't know what would happen if James ever refused to believe that Oliver is his mother.

Even as we walk back to our living quarters, I hear Oliver mumbling repeatedly into James Sirius' ear, "I'm your mummy. You're my precious little angel," and my heart pangs when I think of the pain that Oliver must have been going through to see his own son refuse to come to him. But at least that's in the past now. I can see our son being a Mummy's boy when he's older, which isn't a bad thing in the slightest; I'd rather he be extremely close to his mother than not have any respect for him at all.

When we walk into our cosy living room, I sprinkle a little bit of hand-conjured water over each of our heads to cool us down after spending a few hours in the burning son, and then we all sit down on the sofa.

"Would you like to see what Mummy and Daddy bought you?" Oliver says, his voice assuming the sort of excitement any parent shows their child when revealing something.

"Yeah!"

Oliver takes the Golden Snitch – which has somehow wrapped itself in brown paper - out from behind his back first and hands it to James Sirius, who stares at it confusedly.

"What is it?"

"You need to unwrap it first, James," Oliver laughs. "Mummy'll give you a hand."

After much hand-tangling and laughter, Oliver and James Sirius strip the paper away from the walnut-sized ball, which vibrates minutely in the gleaming sun and unfurls its wings, letting them flutter daintily in a nonexistent breeze.

"It's called a Golden Snitch. The Golden Snitch gets chased by the Seeker in a game of Quidditch..."

I leave Oliver to explain the complicated rules of Quidditch to James Sirius, but I'm very surprised when it seems that our son understands them perfectly well.

"Daddy was a Seeker and Mummy was a Keeper."

"Haha, the Keeper kept the Seeker," James Sirius says, and Oliver gazes at me.

"He did, didn't he?" he chuckles. "And then you came along and our world got so much better!"

My stomach aches again and I realise that I'm still feeling rather hungry; all I had to eat earlier was a pitiful sausage roll.

I voice this to Oliver, who immediately goes into the kitchen and puts some food in the oven for me, not that I asked him to.

"I could have done it myself, you know? You ought to be resting," I say reprovingly.

"What's a man for if he can't even cook meals for his husband?  
"Do you like your present, James?"

"Yeah! It's cool!"

"Just wait until you see what else we got you," I murmur into his ear, and I reach over the back of the sofa to pick up his toy broomstick, which isn't very long or spectacular.

Like the Golden Snitch, it somehow wrapped itself in brown paper. Oliver and James Sirius work together once more to unwrap the gift, and when the straight, shiny broomstick falls onto the floor, our son is at the happiest I've ever seen him.

"A broom! A broom! Wow! My own broom! Thank you, Mummy! Thank you, Daddy! Can I play with it? Can you teach me how to play Quidditch? Can I be the Seeker? Can I? Can I? Pleeeeeease!"

"Yes, darling, you can play with your broom, but you'll have to wait until you're older before you can play Quidditch. That's a big boy's game."

"Awwww..." James Sirius says disappointedly, hanging his head adorably but gut-wrenchingly at the same time.

"Come here," I say, bringing him close to me and hugging him. "When you're big enough, Mummy and Daddy will teach you to play Quidditch, alright? You can still play on your broom if you want. Want me to show you?"

"Yeah!"

"First," I start, putting the broom steady on the floor, "you lay your broom flat on the floor like this, and you stand next to it with your wand arm held out. Try standing here," I place him on the left-hand side of the broom and hold his right hand out, "then you say 'up' and catch the broom as it rises. Try it."

Oliver stands by and watches with a warm glint in his eyes as I show our son the correct way to mount a broom.

"Up!" James Sirius says, and it takes me by surprise to see that the broom rockets up to meet his hand. He gasps, "Did you see that? Daddy, look what I did! Mummy, it worked!"

"I can see that!" Oliver says happily. "Be careful when you sit on the broom, though, make sure you don't fall off!"

"You put your leg over like this," I continue, lifting one of James Sirius' legs over the broom, "and then you sit down in the saddle."

He sits down on his own, staring around himself in wonderment as he hovers there while I use my hands to make sure he doesn't fall.

"Wow!" he cries delightedly.

"To go forward, all you need to do is-"

_Whoosh_

James Sirius bullets from beneath my grasp and Oliver yelps in horror, but it seems that our son has a greater handle on the situation than either of us could have ever thought; he makes a sharp turn around the coffee, carries on for a few feet across the living room, makes another turn and heads down the back of the sofa, and poor Snuffles has to jump out of the way before being hit with the blunt end of the broom.

"What in the..." Oliver mutters. "Snitchy, he's a natural..."

"It runs in the blood, remember?" I say cleverly. "He gets it from his mother."

James Sirius snatches the Golden Snitch, which has been flying around the room for quite some time now, in the blink of an eye.

"And his father, by the looks of it," Oliver says with a smirk. "Not even three feet off the ground and he's able to catch the Snitch. Harry, our little boy is growing up so fast, I honestly can't even begin to describe just how proud I feel. And not just of James Sirius, but you, too. I bet you can't wait to see what it's like having a life on the other side."

"I can't wait, you're right. This time last year, I was a lonely teenager hoping to become an Auror. But then we found each other again in The Three Broomsticks and my life hasn't quite been the same since. All the things we've been through, the Nocturnimagi, Blue Swan, Shadow Dragon, and now Monica's heading for a life in Azkaban... I don't think I've ever felt closer to anyone in my life. I love you, Oliver Potter-Wood, and it's killing me to be Bonded to you without a Consummation. Honey, as soon as these five years are up, I want the ceremony to go ahead. I want to Consummate our love once and for all."

"You forgot something," Oliver smirks as I go to kiss him. "We've made three children, I've given birth to one of them, in not even a year. We must have some pretty strong love if we've managed to reproduce so quickly; we'll have two sons and a daughter by the end of the year. Having kids with you is the highlight of my life, and if anyone were to threaten that... well, let's just say it wouldn't be pretty."

Laughing together and watching our son play with his brand new toy broomstick and Golden Snitch, Oliver and I stand beside the window, letting the late evening rays of sunshine bathe us in their warm glow.

There's no conceivable way that anyone else could try to disrupt our life; Ron is as much of a threat to me as Snuffles is to James Sirius, and if he even makes a single attempt at attacking us, Oliver and I can wipe him from the face of the planet without so much as a flick of our wrists. The truth of the matter is, Oliver Potter-Wood is my first love, but he's also the only one I'll ever have. And the children that are on their way, along with the one we're already raising, will find that there's more to life than simply getting by and trying to survive; if there's one thing that Oliver and I are going to teach them, it's that love is the most important tool – and weapon – at a person's disposal, and all they'll need to do in order to see that fact is simply look at their male biological parents.

"I love you, sweetheart," Oliver whispers to me as he snakes his arms around my waist.

The end of James Sirius' broomstick bumps into an end table and a vase falls to the floor with a smash, but instead of scolding the little boy, Oliver simply chuckles, waves his hand and fixes it.

"Oh, Ollie... my perfect, amazing Ollie... there aren't enough words in the English language to describe my love for you..."

"Then show me with a kiss..."

I turn my head to face him and I see that his eyes are shimmering with glee. We push our lips together, using no tongue, and we remain locked in the kiss for several moments.

James Sirius gets off his broom and walks over to us, but instead of complaining as he usually does, he exclaims, "Yay! Kissy!"

"Are you feeling alright, James?" I say amusedly. "What made you like seeing us kiss, all of a sudden?"

"Cute..." James Sirius says embarrassedly.

"Then you wouldn't mind if did this, then, would you?"

Oliver grabs James Sirius and holds him in between us. Then he winks at me and we move in to peck our son's cheeks.

"Love you, Mummy! Love you, Daddy!"

We cuddle our son tightly while Snuffles yaps at our feet, and after another few minutes, the sun starts to shrink behind the horizon, the blood-red sky fading to a navy hue.

"Your dinner's going to burn if I don't see to it," Oliver says eventually, and I sit James Sirius on the sofa.

Snuffles hops up next to me, his tongue lolling out stupidly, and I pet him on the head while he gives my hand a few appreciative licks.

The Golden Snitch flies around James Sirius' head and he snatches it again.

"Daddy, look what I did!"

"Well done! You're going to make a great Seeker. Daddy was one, too, you know?"

I shouldn't be surprised that James Sirius has a similar skill in Quidditch to me and Oliver. It's clear to me now that it isn't just magic that's hereditary; skills and abilities run in the blood, too, and I guess it's going to be up to Oliver and myself to teach James Sirius how to make proper use of what he can do. Parenting skills, don't fail me now.


	25. The City of Light

**Chapter Twenty Five – The City of Light**

Over the next couple of days, James Sirius just can't seem to stay away from his toys, and it's only after the vase smashing for the tenth time that Oliver finally snaps and tells us to go outside if we want to play.

"I'm not a child, you know, Ollie?" I say smartly, leaving the living quarters on a bright and sunny afternoon three days before the start of term.

Dumbledore has sent me a copy of the rules (a massive, five-inch-thick book that looks more like an encyclopaedia than anything else) and it lies in wait on our bedside table, collecting dust for now. I'll have a look the night before term starts. Looks like old habits die hard...

"Daddy, watch me!"

James Sirius giggles as he flies around one hot, bright afternoon, chasing the Golden Snitch, which I've had to jinx so that it doesn't fly away from us; the toy broom only hovers three feet above the ground at most, and I want James to enjoy playing.

"Wow!" Oliver says encouragingly, as James Sirius catches the Snitch for the fifteenth time in ten minutes, and he hands me two glasses of lemonade. "For the hard-working big boys," he smiles, pecking my cheek.

"Come on, James, inside now. We've been playing all day and we haven't had much to eat or drink."

"Aww..." James Sirius whines, dismounting from his broom.

He gives me a look that fills me up with guilt, but it's for his own good. I take his hand and lead him back up the Astronomy Tower towards our living quarters. Halfway up the staircase, I take an agonised look towards the top, where I see a dark stain on the circular, wooden platform; Hannah and Annabelle's murder scene.

"Daddy, what's up there?"

"Nothing," Oliver says quickly, pulling James Sirius away from me and into our living quarters as we approach the door. "You don't want to go up there, darling, it's not a very nice place."

I drag my eyes away from the depressing scene and follow them into the apartment.

With only two days left until the start of term – and more importantly, our anniversary – it's becoming increasingly difficult to find time to go out on my own and get Oliver a nice gift, especially with the ominous tome that still sits beside the bed. It's very unnerving, even though the most it does is simply exist.

"Honey, you're going to have to read it sooner or later," Oliver tells me as we settle down to sleep on the penultimate day of the holidays.

"But what if I don't read it? They're school rules, and it's not as though I followed them when I was at school."

"You'll still have to set an example for the new students at Hogwarts, though, sweetheart," says Oliver, who nibbles playfully on the skin of my neck. "I'm just teasing you, by the way; no lovemaking until our anniversary."

"I figured," I laugh. "You're right. As Gryffindor Head of House, it's going to be up to me to teach them to follow the rules and do as they're told."

"Yes, because if you don't, you might run the risk of losing your job, and I don't want that to happen, not when you're so close to achieving your dream. I love you, Snitchy, and it'd break my heart to see your life crumble like that."

"It'd break my heart to see your heart break," I sigh, nuzzling myself into his firm chest. "I love you, too, Ollie. Goodnight, sweetie."

Oliver peppers my forehead with kisses and gives me a minute, loving squeeze, then he whispers in my ear, "Goodnight, my love. Before we sleep, I can't help but feel like there's something I meant to do, yet I can't quite put my finger on it..."

"It's probably nothing," I say lightly. "Let's just get some sleep, eh?"

The next day, procrastination's grip on me tightens and I refuse to read the Bible of Doom. Instead, I leave James Sirius with Oliver, who enquires as to where I'm going.

"It's a secret," I respond with a wink. "I'll be back in about half an hour."

I actually plan on taking a trip to a jewellers in Diagon Alley; I've worked out the perfect gifts for my adoring husband. I'll start off with a simple, silver-plated neck chain, and then move into the more extravagant things like a gold, diamond-encrusted ring, which I plan on giving to him at the top of the Eiffel Tower (I'm taking him to Paris for the night, coming back in time for the next day by using the Time Turner Dumbledore has lent me).

I head down the sunny lane towards Hogsmeade, away from the Anti-Intruder charms placed around the school, and Disapparate once I pass through the wrought-iron gates.

A few elderly witches squeal in fright when I appear from nowhere next to their table at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, and I ignore their angry remarks as I pace up the high street towards a formal, respectable-looking building draped with cloth of deepest navy. Fancy letters above the window (where a magnificent emerald necklace reflects the sunlight blindingly) curl in upon themselves and read:

_Pierre Dourin – fine craftsmen of pure-diamond jewellery since 1758_

The sights and smells that greet me when I open the velvet-curtained door suddenly make me feel very underdressed in just my blue top and jeans; jewellery of all shapes and sizes glitters in a light that each individual gem seems to produce, lined all around a hallway-like shop, and there's a scent of roses that drifts pleasantly across my nostrils. A rather young man with flat black hair and a neatly-trimmed moustache stands behind the counter, looking distinctly ruffled.

"Yes?" he says sharply, alarming me as I trail a lazy finger over the glass in front of the jewellery. There are so many rings and chains to choose from, I can't make up my mind, but I know that I'm looking for something nice and expensive.

I notice that the prices are slowly ascending as I walk further on, so I deduce that the shopkeeper intends on having the richer customers come straight up to him (most likely so that he can suck up to them and convince them to buy the most expensive thing he sells). He clears his throat rudely.

"Hi," I say with a smile, but the disgusted glare I get after he scans my apparel quickly disconnects the polite route. "I'm looking for a silver-plated chain-"

"At the far end," he grumbles, directing his gaze to an antique signet ring in front of him and affixing a pince-nez. "Seven Galleons each."

"I was hoping to get something a little more valuable," I say testily, not bothering to face the worthless jewellery. Instead, I send my scathing glance over to the shopkeeper.

"With your… _background_?" he says snootily. "I think that seven Galleons per chain is a stretch, even for you."

"You think so?" I smirk, pulling out and shaking a hefty bag filled with gold that rattles merrily. "I've got the cash, but have you got the right attitude?"

"So sorry, sir," he says abruptly, his voice thick with grease and his eyes glued to my hands. "How can I be of assistance?"

"That's what I thought. I need a silver-plated chain for my husband. Are there any you could recommend?"

"Absolutely," the shopkeeper nods. "The name's Jonathan, by the way, Jonathan Dourin. My great, great, great grandfather was the founder of this fine establishment…"

On and on he drones about the dull history of the shop, but I just let my brain drift away until he comes back to the main point.

"… prevented the goblin attack," he finishes, then he finally starts to acknowledge the fact that I'm looking for jewellery.

I said that I'd be half an hour, but I've already been here for twenty-five minutes. I wish he'd just hurry up.

"Now, this beautiful artefact is two hundred-"

"You know what, I'll just look for one by myself, thanks," I sigh exasperatedly.

"Okay…" he says, crestfallen.

He shuffles off back behind the counter, muttering rude remarks, and I start closely inspecting the jewellery.

My eyes dally over a number of undesirably dull, cheap chains and necklaces, but then something catches my eye; a simple set of silver links make up one of the most beautiful pieces of jewellery I've ever seen, and I can only imagine what Oliver is going to look like once he puts it on. I check the price – forty-three Galleons. Digging deep into my pocket and taking out two handfuls of gold, I pay the shopkeeper.

"Is that everything, sir?"

"Not quite. The rings you have are very pretty, but I was hoping to get something rather specific."

"Mhm, like what, exactly?"

"I want a ring made of gold – the purest you have – and it needs to be encrusted with diamonds – again, the purest you have. I want an inscription, too."

I take out a piece of parchment I wrote a small message on, and give it to him.

"_One year with you has taught me more about myself and life than anyone else ever could. I love you with all of my heart, body and soul, Oliver Potter-Wood. Happy anniversary. xxx_" he reads. "How cute. With your specifications, as well as the scrolling inscription, the ring is going to cost you…" he takes out a book of encyclopaedic proportions and starts rifling through its thousands of pages, remaining completely silent for a very tense few minutes, before slapping his finger down in one particular spot and announcing, "six-hundred and seventy-eight Galleons, thirteen Sickles and three Knuts. If you don't have the gold on you at this present time, there is a spell you can use. I trust you have your Gringotts key?" I nod. "Good. Simply hold out your key, point it towards me, think of the amount you'd like to transfer and say '_Datio!_'"

"I already have seven-hundred Galleons with me, but thanks for letting me know," I say appreciatively tipping the bag upside-down and emptying it completely. The gold scatters along the surface of the counter and some even spill onto the floor. "I'll be able to use it if I'm paying more than the amount I have on-hand."

The shopkeeper counts out six-hundred and seventy-nine Galleons, which he gladly puts into his till, and goes to give me some change, but I put my hand out and let him keep it. He gives me an impossibly straight smile, the first I never thought I'd see, and says, "Thank you. It should take about two days-"

"Two days?! I need it by tomorrow – or today preferably! Please, me and my husband's first anniversary is tomorrow and I want to take him to Paris for the night…"

"Hmm…" the shopkeeper inches a corner of his mouth up in contemplation, before saying, "Give me ten minutes. It's going to cost you another ten Galleons, though."

"Thank you," I say keenly, practically throwing another handful of gold at him.

Ten minutes later, I find myself breathing a huge sigh of relief as I step into the bright high street, and I'm not sure whether the sudden bite on my skin is because it's cold outside or just swelteringly hot in the shop. In my pockets sit two neatly-wrapped parcels. Oliver's going to scream when I give them to him tomorrow…

As I leave the shop behind, I Disapparate in a whirl of colour.

"Ollie, I'm back!" I call as I step into the living room, casting a Disillusionment charm over the gifts and stuffing them back into my pockets.

"Daddy!" James Sirius cries delightedly, running up to me and wrapping himself around my legs. "I missed you!"

"Hello, James!"

I pick him up and carry him across the living room, meeting Oliver at the kitchen door.

"Where have you been?" he says conversationally, hand-drying a glass.

"Diagon Alley to pick up a couple of things, but you'll have to wait if you want to see what they are."

He narrows his eyes at me.

"It's a good thing our anniversary is tomorrow, otherwise I'd have to tackle you to the floor and wrestle those things from you," Oliver laughs.

"I'd like to see you try," I smirk, and I give him a tender kiss. "I love you, Ollie."

"I love you, too, sweetheart," Oliver replies, reciprocating my affection.

For the rest of the night, I spend most of my time trying to find a place to hide Oliver's presents, but he's so observant that when we sit down to watch TV before bed (James Sirius was tucked in two hours previously), his eyes rake the bookcase – the best hiding place in the apartment.

"There's a book out-of-place," he says pointedly. "Don't worry, honey, I won't look, I promise."

"I know you won't, baby," I sigh dreamily.

He gets up from the sofa, flicks the power button on the TV remote and we both make our way through to the bedroom, where we climb into bed naked and snuggle together like always, placing a few sweet kisses to the other's lips and then finally drifting off to sleep, ready for the early morning to come.

"Harry? Haaaaarry?" Oliver's soft voice plays in my ear. "Come on, sweetheart, it's time to get up. We had an owl about ten minutes ago; you need to be in the staff room by four o'clock to collect your timetable and diary. Dumbledore said that he wanted to have one last word with you and get you introduced properly to all the other staff members, too."

"Alright, I'm getting up. Hey, where do you think you're going?" I grab Oliver's arm as he tries to leave the room and pull him back onto the bed. "Happy anniversary, gorgeous."

"Happy anniversary, honey," he smiles, kissing me passionately. Then he pulls me into a gentle hug. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

I press my nose into his neck and inhale deeply. The pitter-patter of James Sirius' footsteps grows louder as he walks down the hallway, and he pokes his head in the doorway.

"Hug, huggy, hug! Mummy, Daddy, can I have a hug too?"

"Of course you can, angel. Quick, better get here before the Cuddle Express leaves without you!"

"No! I don't want it to leave!" James shouts cutely, and he dashes across the room to jump onto our bed. "Love you, Mummy! Love you, Daddy!"

"We love you, too, son," I say, pecking my son on the forehead. "Listen, Daddy's going to ask Aunt Hermione and Uncle Fred to look after you tonight. Me and Mummy are going somewhere because it's our special day, only for grown-ups. Is that alright?"

"We're going somewhere? We can't; you've got to stay here for the welcome feast."

"Dumbledore lent me a Time Turner – we can go to the place I'm thinking of _and_ attend the welcome feast. It's simple; we celebrate our anniversary, wake up tomorrow morning and then use the Time Turner to come back here just as we're leaving. Fool proof."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll just have to wait and see."

I flourish my hand and wait for the resulting silver wisp to solidify into the familiar stag, then I convey the message to it and send it to Hermione, watching as it blasts through the air away from us and blinks behind the horizon.

"What if Hermione says no?" Oliver says worriedly.

"She won't; she gets to look after James Sirius," I say knowingly, and sure enough, her familiar otter Patronus seeps in through the wall a few minutes later.

As I anticipated, she accepts with earnest and tells me that she and Fred will be here in two hours, which gives me plenty of time to ensure that I'm clean, dressed and very presentable for my husband, who seems to be having the same idea as me; we run around the bedroom and bathroom getting ready while James Sirius watches cartoons in the living room.

When I've had a bath, brushed my teeth, spiked my hair up at the front and changed into a white, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of black pants, I quickly take advantage of Oliver's distraction (he can't make his mind up between a pale-blue short-sleeved shirt and another that's identical mine) and stash his presents back into my pockets. When James Sirius sees, I place a finger to my lips as though telling him not to say anything. He puts his finger on his lips, too; he's understood what I meant.

"Ready?" I ask when Oliver finally emerges from the bathroom, the fringe of his hair already-short brown hair spiked to perfection.

I feel a jolt in my nether regions and I know that I need to calm myself down.

"I think so. Have we got everything?"

"I've got everything I need."

I pat myself on the chest and sigh in relief when the cold metal of the Time Turner brushes over my skin.

With half an hour to spare, Oliver and I sit on the sofa and watch James Sirius play with his broomstick and Golden Snitch. Oliver, being the protective mother he is, can't help himself but follow James around the room so that he can catch him safely if he falls.

At last, there's a knock at the door and Hermione and Fred walk in, grinning broadly. Hermione's hair is bushy mess and Fred has a dozy expression across his face. I don't need to ask, nor do I want to, so I just get straight to the point.

"Thanks for coming to look after James, Hermione," I say gratefully. "And you, Fred. There's food in the fridge if you want to help yourselves. James Sirius needs to be in bed no later than eight o'clock and he isn't to have food after seven. He can have a small glass of water before bed, but that's it. Oh, and he likes a good bedtime story, too."

"Eight o'clock bedtime, no food after seven, only allowed a small glass of water, bedtime story, got it," Hermione says, ticking each one off on her finger. "Any particular books he likes?"

"So far, Oliver and I have read up to chapter three of Prisoner of Azkaban to him. He can only listen for so long before he goes to sleep, bless him."

"Make yourselves at home, watch TV, whatever," Oliver says. "Just make sure that James Sirius does as he's told, but that shouldn't be much of a problem. He's Mummy's little angel, aren't you, James?"

"Love you, Mummy! Love you, Daddy!"

"Love you, too, darling. One last hug before we go, eh?"

James Sirius comes over to us and we embrace him, before Oliver kisses his cheek and send him back over to the sofa to watch TV.

"Thanks again, Hermione, Fred," I say. "James Sirius, you be good for your Aunt Hermione and Uncle Fred, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy. I'll be a good boy. Can I show Aunt Hermione my new broomstick?"

"Yes, son, you can. See you later."

"Bye!" All three of them reply, and I close the door behind myself and Oliver.

"So, where are you taking us?" Oliver asks me as we pace down the lawns towards Hogsmeade.

"Ah, now that would be telling. But I will say this: close your eyes."

When we pass the gates and are out of the Anti-Intruder charms' reach, I tell Oliver to grab my arm and we Disapparate with a crack.

It seems that I'm more accurate at Apparition than I first thought; instead of popping up half an hour away from Paris, as I had initially expected, I find that we're both standing at the base of the blinking Eiffel Tower.

"Can I open my eyes yet?" Oliver says excitedly, and he jumps at the sound of a beeping car horn in the distance. "Are we in the city?"

A clock up on a nearby building reads five.

"Okay, you can open your eyes now," I say with bated breath. I know how he's going to react.

"Alright, let's see where- Harry! Paris?! Oh, it's the City of Love! You're so sweet, you're going to make my teeth fall apart! Get here, you incredible man!"

He grabs me by the waist and lifts me up so that I can wrap my legs around him, and then we kiss deeply. Something pointy sticks out of his jacket and pokes me in the side. I wonder what it could be…

"I love you, Ollie. Happy anniversary, honey."

"Happy anniversary, sweetheart. I love you so much. Get down for a minute; I've got something for you…"

I unlock my legs and stand normally on the dry patch of grass surrounding the Eiffel Tower. Oliver takes the pointy thing out of his jacket pocket and I see that it's actually a deep-purple box. He opens it carefully, and I let out a high-pitched, involuntary gasp when the jewellery inside is revealed.

"Ollie... I… I don't know what to say…"

Sitting on a cushion of black velvet is a thick, golden ring, on top of which a shimmering diamond, half-an-inch-wide, sticks out like some sort of monument.

"Someone as precious and beautiful as you deserves something to equal that," Oliver says sweetly, slipping the ring on my middle finger.

"I already have you for that, but… oh, Ollie, thank you. Thank you so much! It's amazing, I love it, I really do! Hey, I've got something for you, too."

Out from my pocket I take the larger of the two boxes and give it to Oliver.

"It's not as extravagant as your gift," I say with false guilt as Oliver opens the box, "but-"

"Harry, it's… it's wonderful…"

With as much tenderness as his voice, he hugs me and then pecks my lips.

Once I've helped him to click the chain in place around his neck, we head towards the glass elevator at the very bottom of the Tower.

"There's a restaurant at the very top of the tower," I tell him as the houses and buildings of Paris grow smaller by the second. "Wizards-only, too. When I say at the top, I mean that it's balancing _on top_ of the tower."

"So, where's this elevator going? I'm guessing that the restaurant is invisible from the outside, but the tower isn't wide enough at the top to accommodate an elevator-"

There's a creaking sound and then a flash of light. Oliver tries to grab onto me for support as the elevator rattles around, but he hits me in the stomach instead and I keel over in pain, the muscles in abdomen going into spasms.

"Harry! Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry! Are you alright? Here, let me help you up."

I drape an arm over his shoulders and he helps me out of the glass elevator into the restaurant I told him about.

A kind-looking witch dressed in scarlet robes greets us and shows us to a table. Once we're sat down, I manage to get a good look around at our surroundings.

It looks just like any ordinary Muggle restaurant, only it's wider than even the base of the Eiffel Tower and there are moving paintings of famous witches and wizards on the walls. Blue neon lights spread evenly across the ceiling bathe the restaurant in a warm glow and the many bottles of alcohol sparkle behind the bar.

"It's amazing in here…" Oliver says, his mouth agape.

"I know, it's even better than I expected!"

"What can I get you, Monsieur?" a smart waiter with a thick French accent asks when he brings a menu over. "Chardonnay, Rosé?"

"None for me, thank you," Oliver says, patting his baby bump proudly while I read over the menu.

I decide on eating a beef bourguignon and hand the menu to Oliver, who picks out a course of raclette cheese with potatoes and ham..

"I'm fine," I say politely, shaking my head. "Just a soda water for me."

"I'll have the same."

"Very good, sirs. Your meal shall be with you in around ten minutes."

"Harry, you really didn't have to go to all this trouble-"

"I did," I say flatly. "I did because I love you to death, Oliver Potter-Wood, which is why I also got this."

"You didn't buy anything else for me, did you, Harry?" And then when I pull out the smaller box, he says, "Sweetheart, you really shouldn't…"

"Just take it. It's our anniversary and I wanted to get you something special. Honey, you're worth every piece of gold I spend on you. I love you."

"I love you, too, but…" he looks very guilty indeed, but I give him the reassurance he needs by leaning across the table and kissing his cheek.

"Please, open it… if not for yourself, do it for me…"

"Alright," he says with a sigh. His tune quickly changes when he opens the box, though. "Is-Is that… is that _real_ gold?"

"As real as it can get," I say proudly. "And the diamond's real, too."

"Snitchy, you didn't… Oh my… I'm speechless…"

"You like it?"

"Like it? Harry, I bloody _love_ it! It's absolutely stunning! But I honestly can't believe you went so far as to get _genuine_ diamonds and gold…"

"My beautiful husband deserves exactly that," I wink. The waiter appears with our meals in hand and lays them on our table, then he bows low and walks away to serve some other customers. "When we've eaten, I'm going to take us to a lovely hotel and we can make sweet, gentle love like we always do."

"I can't wait… Now, let's get this food eaten; I'm starving!"

For the next ten minutes we eat in complete silence, occasionally sipping our drinks, simply wanting to enjoy our meal. The beef bourguignon is delicious and the chunks of beef are tender and juicy, yet there's a peculiar taste to the stew – one that I'm not sure I should be tasting…

"This raclette is amazing…"

"So is this beef bourguignon."

With a contented sigh, I finish my meal and lay my knife and fork upon the plate. A few seconds later, so does Oliver.

"Honey, that was a fantastic meal. Thanks for bringing me here."

"Hey, it was no problem, no problem whatsoever. Listen, I've got something I need to tell you, something big…"

I've been keeping some significant news a secret; I wanted to wait until we were in the right place – the hotel – but I don't think I can go on much longer without telling Oliver.

"What is it?"

"Your bill, sirs."

The waiter appears yet again and this time he serves us the bill instead of food; I owe him twenty-one Galleons. I hold out my Gringotts key, remembering what the shopkeeper in Diagon Alley had told me, and think of the gold waiting in my vault to be paid. "_Datio!_" I say, and a stream of gold Galleons flies from the end of my key, landing neatly in the waiter's open money bag.

"Thank you, sir, I hope you have a wonderful evening."

"Now, what was it you wanted to tell me, sweetheart?"

"It's really confusing as to how it's happened, and Merlin knows we're going to find life very difficult all of a sudden, but…"

"Yes?"

"I'm pregnant."


	26. Parisian Paradise

**Chapter Twenty Six – Parisian Paradise**

There's a tense silence at our table and Oliver's eyes don't suggest any particularly strong sense of emotion. A few customers at the tables surrounding ours begin to clap and offer their congratulations, but there's something off about the way that Oliver's reacting to the news.

"Ollie? Honey, come on, say something."

"How long have you known?" he says after a while.

"A couple of days. I didn't need to take a pregnancy test; I could feel the baby moving around inside me. I was going to wait until we were at the hotel before I told you, but I just couldn't keep it in anymore. You're not mad, are you?"

"This isn't the time or place," he says in a hushed tone, casting a furtive glance around the restaurant. "Let's go, and we can talk about it when we get to the hotel."

When we've made our way out of the restaurant, down the tower, took a ten-minute walk to our hotel, booked in at reception (using Datio to pay) and headed up to our double bedroom, all in complete silence, I start to panic. He's already pregnant; what if he doesn't want me to have a baby just yet? What if he wants me to get rid of it?

He perches himself on the edge of the rose-covered, silk-sheet bed and gives a deep sigh, which isn't exactly helping to ease the sickening feeling in my stomach.

"Honey? You aren't… _mad_, are you?"

"Mad? Sweetheart, how could I be mad?" he says this with an unquestionable kindness, and my nausea dissipates. "You get here and sit on this bed with me, right now."

Smiling sheepishly, I do as I'm told and sweep a few roses out of the way. He grabs me no sooner than when I've sat down and I find myself being smothered by the crushing hug he's pulled me into.

I rain tears onto his shirt and he sobs quietly. When I gaze up at him, it seems that we're both crying tears of joy.

"You're _happy_ that I'm pregnant?"

"Of course I am, you bloody fool!" he laughs. "Oh, sweetheart, you're going to be a mummy! And I get to be the daddy for once! You mean the world to me, Snitchy, and if we're having more children, so be it."

He bombards me with sweet kisses.

"I remember what it was I meant to do, now. When we made love last, I forgot to Sterilise myself…"

"Hey, it doesn't matter," I assure him. "We're having another baby and that's all that matters. It's going to be difficult trying to cope with being pregnant at the same time, but we'll get through it, I'm sure. We've been through worse, anyway. Wow… four babies born in the space of a year…"

"Well, that settles it," Oliver says with finality, "we're the most-loving gay couple there's ever been. It's rare that a they even have _one _baby, let alone four!"

"It doesn't surprise me; I love you more than anything in this world other than my own flesh and blood. Four children… we're never going to stop loving each other…"

"Why should we? I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't show you love, sweetheart. Speaking of which, what do you say to a little bit of anniversary lovemaking?"

"I say let's make love. But first, I have an idea…"

I place a finger to my lips to cut across the question he attempts and move across the room towards a telephone receiver. I press the button labelled 'Room Service' and order ice cream, then go back over to an inquisitive Oliver.

"Are you seriously getting ice cream?" he says in astonishment. "Harry, we had dinner not too long ago and we're just about to-"

"Shush. You'll see in a minute…"

A knock at the door a short time later takes my attention away from the passionate kissing I've engaged Oliver in and I come back carrying a small bowl of strawberry ice cream – and two spoons.

"Um…" says Oliver. "Are you thinking of doing what I think you're thinking of doing?"

"If you think I'm thinking of doing what you think I'm thinking of doing, then I think I probably _am_ thinking of doing what you think I'm thinking of doing."

We stare blankly at each other for a minute or so, barely blinking, and then we're overcome with laughter.

"Would you like to rephrase that?" Oliver wheezes through tumults of giggles, almost pricking himself on a rose as he rolls around on the bed.

"Yes, I _am_ thinking of food play," I manage, and with a sweep of my hand, the roses fly from the bed. "I thought we could use something a little… _exotic_…"

"It's exotic, alright… Mmm, having my husband spread ice cream across my body and then carefully lick me clean? I couldn't possibly think of any bodily areas it could go…"

"We'll just have to play and find out, won't we?" I say with a wink, and in the blink of an eye, I'm naked. Next thing I know, Oliver is, too.

"I love you so much, sweetheart," Oliver says softly, pushing me back gently and lacing our lips together, positioning our crotches into a perfect alignment.

"Ollie… my perfect man… and the father to my child! Let's make love…"

His tender touch energises my body as he grazes a hand down my side, and we kiss deeply, our tongues intertwining, while I try to stop the ice cream from spilling out of the bowl. Then he attacks my ribs with his nimble fingers and I can't stop laughing.

"Oliver! Stop!" I pant. "I can't – I'm going to drop the ice cream!"

"Give me that," Oliver smirks, and he retracts his hands. "Where to start first? Hmm… fingers, I think…"

He takes a hold of my hand, scoops a tiny amount of ice cream out of the bowl and spreads it evenly across my four fingers. Then, as tortuously slow as possible, he curls his tongue around them one at a time, taking however long he pleases to clean each digit.

This is much more erotic than I first thought it would be, and I now come to the conclusion that stopping would have some unfortunate side effects – he wouldn't be getting his cock sucked later, for one.

"Tastes good…"

Once the last finger has been cleaned with a delicacy as though it's broken, Oliver scoops out some more ice cream and puts a miniscule blob in my open palm.

"That tickles!" I titter when his tongue streaks across the sensitive skin. "You're good at this…"

"I've had a year of making love to you – I think I know how to please you by now," he smiles, and then our lips become entangled again. "Neck, I think…"

With another small glob of ice cream and a high-pitched gasp from me, a sharp coldness bites my collar bone, but then I'm warmed up by Oliver's gentle, lapping tongue.

"Ollie…" I moan once the ice cream has been cleaned. He doesn't stop licking me, instead nibbling down on that extra-astute section of my neck.

"How about your chest? Watch out, it's going to be a little bit cold."

My chest burns from the ice cream, but then Oliver's warm, juicy mouth relieves me of the discomfort and this time I hold his head to my body, forcing him to lick me even more.

"Ohhhhhh, that's _right_…"

But he's clever; he knows that I'm not going to let his lips leave me, so he adapts to his current situation by trailing a long line of freezing dessert down my torso, stopping just above my hardening cock, and then sweeping his tongue and lips all the way down in one smooth motion.

"Please, honey… suck me…"

He takes the spoon and, before he uses up the remaining stock, he uses a Replenishment charm on the ice cream. Then he scrapes a very small line of melted food the rest of the way but goes no further than the root of my dick, which he licks teasingly. I quiver with a burning desire to please and be pleased, and after a little more encouragement (which comes across more as pleading than anything else), Oliver uses his bare hand to coat one side of my throbbing member in the tasty substance.

"Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold- WARM! Ohhhhh… Ollie!"

This is a very new and exciting experience for me; the heat of Oliver's masterful mouth and the coldness of the ice cream seem to be mixing together in order to create a perfect, electrifying blend of spasmodic warmth and soul-shuddering chills that throws my entire body into complete disarray, and as his slow, bobbing movements start to increase in pace, the suction of his cheeks pulling me like a straw, I know a sensation like my very existence is being drawn through my leaking slit.

I buck my hips and he applies a little more pressure with his lips, but it's not enough to stop my length from sliding seamlessly into his smooth, silky throat. His hands glide up my body and caress my abs as he lets me violate his godlike face, and when he starts to hum a new song to me, one that I haven't heard before, every nerve within me threatens to let go.

He pulls off, sensing just how close I am to coming in his mouth, and he takes another spoonful of ice cream, which he feeds to me.

"That song…" I breathe. "I've never heard it before…"

He lays on top of me, my legs wrapped snugly around his waist, and starts to sing.

"_In your arms,  
_"_I can still feel the way you want me when you hold me_,  
"_I can still hear the words you whispered when you told me,  
_"_I can stay right here forever in your arms_…"

"Ollie… you're so sweet… I love you, honey…"

"_And there ain't no way,  
_"_I'm lettin' you go now,  
_"_And there ain't no way,  
_"_And there ain't no how,  
_"_I'll never see that day._"

"I need to feel you filling me up…"

"Get comfortable, sweetheart, I'm going to make this as breathtaking and special as I can. I love you so much…"

He gives himself a few short strokes and lubricates his leaking length. He actually remembers to use the Sterilisation spell this time, but I simply laugh and say, "It's a little late for that. There's no need for it."

"That's true, I suppose," he chuckles. "Are you comfortable? Lock your legs around my waist so that I can get the deepest penetration."

He gives me a warm smile and the ghost of a kiss, then he pushes forward so slowly that my arse shivers with an aching need. He slips the rest of his member inside me and we finally achieve that state of completion, like two jigsaws missing the final piece.

"Ollie! Happy anniversary, honey… Please… make love to me…"

"It'd be my pleasure, sweetheart…"

He withdraws his cock minutely from my body and every muscle in my arse follows his path of pleasure, then he pushes back inside and strikes the fleshy bulb that is my prostate. I crumble beneath him, clawing desperately at his back as his slow thrusts cause me to dissolve into incoherent babbling.

"Oh, Ollie… so _good_…"

"Ohhhhh… happy anniversary…"

Every subtle movement of his hips pushes his dick deep inside me, the deepest he's ever gone, and I can feel all of his veins throbbing against my prostate in a heavenly synchronisation with the strokes of the mushroom-shaped head.

A bead of precum leaks from the end of my dick. Oliver's baby bump, at what I'm assuming is nearly full-size, rubs comes into contact with the substance and streaks it up my body.

"Ollie, faster…"

He hears my pleas for quicker and deeper penetration. He seems to be in an honouring mood, for his speed picks up and the quiet sound of flesh hitting flesh ripples around the room. My breathing becomes ragged as he rearranges my velvety walls, venturing so close to my core that I yelp and scream at the height of my lungs.

"Every… single… time…" I gasp, tears of joy streaking my cheeks. "My… poor… prostate…"

I slap my hands to his arse cheeks and pull him rather hard into me, the resulting tidal wave of pleasure causing me to convulse as the refurbishment continues. My arms snap around his neck, I lock them in place, and I start to rotate my hips in large circles so that the head of Oliver's cock can stimulate every possible inch of my silky insides.

"Such a mind-blowing anniversary, baby!" I moan, and he clamps his lips down onto my neck. "Yeah!"

His chest heaves on top of me and his breath tears out in rags against my skin, then I feel a peculiar tingle running up my spine and my ball sack tightens. Our intense lovemaking comes to an even more intense climax as he erupts like a volcano inside me, and I feel a flood of hot, sticky fluid blast from my arse. My dick gives up, too, and in no time at all I'm screaming the loudest since I started my relationship with Oliver. Endless streams of cum fly from my slit like harpoons and splatter our bodies in a pearly coat, then Oliver collapses onto me without a single puff of oxygen left within him.

"I love you, I love you, I love you…" I mumble into his ear, and he kisses me fiercely but with attentive care.

We lay there, gazing and smiling at each other for a large amount of time afterwards.

In unison, we say, "Happy anniversary," and press our lips together once more.

After another few minutes, Oliver lays beside me and holds me close to his cum-streaked torso. I remember what it was like when we first made love one year ago – Oliver had just withdrawn from my spent body in the Room of Requirement and I told him I loved him, to which he confessed, too. He had wrapped his arms around my chest and I'd snuggled deeply into him.

Mirroring this in the present day, it seems that our life has gone full circle, and after a short while we both fall asleep, safe and content in each other's arms.


	27. Life on the Other Side

**Chapter Twenty Seven – Life on the Other Side**

"Ollie…" I purr, and I nuzzle myself into my husband's chest as blinding rays of sunshine glare through the window of our hotel room.

I take the time to gently stroke his arm, but as I move my lips towards his chin, he pulls his head down and instead we kiss fully on the mouth.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he says quietly, hugging me. "Did you sleep well?"

"I always sleep well when I'm in your arms."

"Such a sweet man, you're going to give me cavities."

I pull myself as close to him as I can and inhale deeply, for his magnificent scent is always enough to make me feel light-headed and at complete peace.

"I know it's not our special day anymore, but… happy anniversary, honey," I say with a smile, and we kiss again. "I guess we should be getting back to Hogwarts soon; James Sirius is probably starting to miss us."

And with that (and a final, sneaky kiss), we get dressed, leave a ten Galleon tip on the bedside table and head out of the hotel into the joyous day beyond.

"Hold it," Oliver says suddenly as I pull the Time Turner out of my pocket. "We need to be careful who we use the Time Turner around – quick, down this alleyway."

He takes me by the arm and pulls me into a dank alleyway that stinks of rotten soil.

I put the chain around our necks and give the instrument fourteen turns.

The world around us dissolves in a brilliant mix of red, blue and yellow. When it solidifies once more, we see a cover of pinkish cloud over a blood-red sky and the tip of the Eiffel Tower scratches the atmosphere.

"What time are we at?" Oliver asks, poking his head round the corner.

"Six o'clock," I say lowly. "We have an hour before the students arrive back at the castle."

"Get back!"

Oliver grabs me and hauls me behind a bin. I open my mouth to complain, but then I see two carbon copies of us pass by in complete silence. Since I know that Oliver is ecstatic about my pregnancy and my mind isn't fogged with worry, I notice that there's a very happy glint in his clone's eye as they pass the alleyway.

"Coast's clear," he whispers after poking his head round the wall to check. "We've – they've – whatever – gone into the hotel."

I grasp his hand and we Disapparate with a loud crack.

I open the door to our living quarters and step over the threshold. Hermione and Fred are huddled on the sofa and watching the News at Six while James Sirius sits on the floor in front of them, playing with his Golden Snitch.

"We're back," I announce.

"That was a quick anniversary," Hermione says, but she retracts it when I show her the Time Turner around my neck.

"We've just come from eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Mummy!" James Sirius cries with glee, and his tiny feet rumble along the floor as he charges at Oliver. "I missed you!"

"Hello, darling!" Oliver picks James Sirius up and hugs him tightly. "Mummy missed you, too. Have you been a good boy for Aunt Hermione and Uncle Fred?"

"He's been a delight," says Hermione. "I gave him a cheese sandwich not too long ago."

"He loves his cheese," Oliver chuckles, kissing James Sirius' cheek.

There's a knock at the door a couple of minutes later and I open it to find Dumbledore standing before me.

"Good evening, Harry, or should I say Professor Potter-Wood?" he smirks behind a long curtain of white hair, which is tucked neatly into his belt. "I was sat in my office when I noticed yourself and Oliver walking up the path to the Astronomy Tower. I trust your anniversary went – or is going – well?"

"It was fantastic," Oliver grins. "We had a nice, romantic meal in Paris and then we went to a hotel for the night. This loveable oaf went and overspent on gifts, though," he adds, brandishing the ring and chain I bought for him.

"Harry, I'll make this quick so that you can get ready. I need you to be up at the castle in half an hour, at the latest. The students will be here at seven o'clock and it wouldn't be prudent if the new Gryffindor Head of House was late to the welcome feast. I'll see you soon. And Oliver, feel free to attend the feast, too."

"It's alright, Oliver, Fred and I will stay and look after James Sirius until you get back."

"What do you think, angel? Do you want to play with Aunt Hermione and Uncle Fred some more?"

"Yeah! Love you, Aunt Hermy! Love you, Uncle Fred!"

"Awwwwww!" Hermione squeals. "We love you, too, James!"

It takes myself and Oliver ten minutes to clean our bodies and get changed into formal robes, but once we've done so, we head on over to the staff room in the main castle, where Rebekah greets us with tight hugs. When she moves out of the way, though, there's someone else there whom we recognise.

"Eddy?!" I say loudly. "What are you doing here? Where's Dominic?"

"Sit down, I'll tell you all about it, you're going to _die_ when you hear… I'm overjoyed, never thought it possible… needed a job on the side, Pyrozome isn't as profitable anymore…"

He says all this very quickly and I can't wrap my head around any of it.

"Whoa, whoa, Eddy, calm down, eh?" Oliver says with a sighed laugh, holding his hands out and waving them frantically.

Eddy sits in one of the chairs beside a crackling fireplace and starts his story as Oliver, myself and Rebekah sit opposite him. For some reason, the other teachers are yet to be seen.

"Well, first off, Pyrozome Incorporated has gone downhill from falling sales – Muggles are just paying their magical neighbours to do the odd job here and there, see – and I needed to find a side job so that myself and Dominic could stay afloat in the apartment we're in. I'm a Herbology teacher now. Sarah Hunter – the Midwitch that helped you fight against the Blue Swan agents – is a Healer at the school, by the way. Long-story-short, life is going to be more difficult for myself and Dominic because Dominic's pregnant."

"Wow, really?! So are we!" I say excitedly, and Eddy narrows his eyes in confusion. "We're both pregnant! Oliver's having twins and I'm not sure how many I'm carrying right now. But we're so happy for you! Congratulations, really!"

"It's a thrill, it really is," Oliver says with a proud glint in his eyes. "I tell you, being pregnant with James Sirius was the best experience of my life."

"We know who to come to when we need advice then, don't we?" Eddy smiles.

"How _is_ Dominic doing, anyway?" Rebekah says conversationally, as the first drips of teachers and other staff members trickle in through the door. "We haven't heard from him in a while…"

"He keeps himself to himself nowadays, especially with the inevitability of Pyrozome Incorporated going into liquidation. I really wish he wouldn't, though; it kills me to see him so depressed…  
"But, anyway, how has life been for you two?"

Before we can answer, Dumbledore strides in with another cluster of teachers behind him.

"The students have arrived at Hogsmeade Station and are on their way up to the school as I speak. I suggest you all acquaint each other briefly and then come down to the Great Hall as soon as you can. Chop-chop!"

He claps his hands twice and glides from the room with his magenta robes billowing out, and the staff in the room give each other scarce glances, as though they're complete strangers, and follow him before I, Dominic, Oliver or Rebekah have a chance to introduce ourselves. We head down to the Great Hall after them.

The enchanted ceiling is completely free of cloud and the house tables have been lined up perfectly in the centre of the room. At the very end sits the long, elegantly-decorated staff table draped with midnight-blue velvet and topped with glittering, golden goblets. A banner for each house hangs in the corners. Finally, at the head of the Great Hall, stands the great throne-like chair Dumbledore always sat on during mealtimes and feasts.

"Now, Harry, I sit in the centre there, and you can choose to sit to either my right or my left. Which one would you like?"

"I-er, right," I say without thinking, and he ushers me to the right side of the headmaster's chair.

"Oliver, am I right in thinking that you'd prefer to sit at your husband's side?"

Oliver nods courteously and takes the seat next to me, before planting a very sweet and tender kiss to my lips.

"How come he gets to sit at the head table?!" a member of staff shouts in outrage. "He's not even an employee!"

"On the contrary," Dumbledore says coolly, turning to face Oliver. "Oliver, I was wondering if you'd like to help look after the children of the other members of staff." Oliver gives him a disbelieving stare. "What, you didn't think that I only employed childless individuals, did you? There's a playpen for young children behind the castle. I daresay James Sirius would fit in quite nicely there, as will your other three children when they arrive."

"What do you say, Ollie?" I ask as the other staff members take their eats at the table. A loud chattering can be heard coming from the Entrance Hall. "It could be a lovely way for James Sirius to make friends – you'll make a little bit of money on the side, too."

"Yes, of course I will," Oliver says, flabbergasted. "When do I start?"

"Tomorrow. Our other member of staff has agreed to look after the children one last time before she retires at the end of today. That's enough talking, I think, here come the students."

The elderly headmaster takes his seat beside me, winks at me, then just as I take a look at my surroundings, hardly daring to believe that I'm seeing Hogwarts life through the other side, the doors to the Great Hall open with a resounding groan, and the gigantic, wiry-haired form of Rubeus Hagrid strides inside, the second-years-and-above looking a lot like stick men compared to his size.

Excitable chatting rings around the Great Hall as all students but the first-years (a few of which I can see shuffling nervously in the Entrance Hall) take their seats. Some of them start to point in mine and Oliver's direction and I hear a ripple of whispering break out across the hall.

"Harry Potter?"

"What's he doing here?"

"Look, it's Oliver Wood!"

"He's _gorgeous_…"

"And he's also mine," I say to Oliver out the corner of my mouth.

Oliver chuckles and kisses my cheek. This has a far bigger effect than what I thought it would have. The girls in the hall start squealing with what I'm hoping is delight and some of the boys even catcall. How is it possible for them to not know that we're Bonded?

A sound like a firework disrupts their noise and silence descends over the Great Hall like a veil. Dumbledore is sitting in his chair with his wand raised.

"Welcome back to yet another year at Hogwarts! I trust you all had enough time over the summer to clear out your head and prepare for the next stage in your magical education? But before we dive into our wonderful feast, we need to sort our first-years into their houses! Bring them in, Hagrid!"

Hagrid leaves the hall and returns a couple of minutes later with the quivering first-years, some of which I can see are just about to start crying. They shuffle their way up to the front of the hall, where Dumbledore places a rickety stool and the familiar, worn Sorting Hat.

"Aw, the poor things…" Oliver says quietly. "I just want to go up there and hug each and every one of them."

"That's why you're an astounding mother," I whisper back. "I love you."

Oliver's hand takes mine and he gives it an affectionate squeeze, muttering that three-worded phrase we'll never stop using.

Dumbledore takes a scroll out from his robes and lets it fall, but it doesn't stop once it hits the floor; as though something's pushing it, the parchment just keeps on rolling along the stone with no resistance, and by the time it's finished unravelling, there's a yellowish strip leading down the Great Hall and into the Entrance Hall.

"When I call your name," the elderly wizard says gently, "you will step forward and you will be sorted into your houses."

The first person on his list ('Jones, Helen'), steps forward with an anxious expression plastered across her freckly, spectacled face and she sits on the stool. She puts the Sorting Hat on her head and a few seconds later she becomes the first new student to join the Ravenclaw table, to much applause.

Dumbledore carries on going through the list of names, each table erupting into cheers and whistles when a new member joined their ranks, but when he comes to the final name, the name of a petite, cowering boy who is far smaller than the others, there's a tense silence in the room.

"Ericsson, Aled."

The boy merely stares, unblinking, lower lip trembling, and then a flood of tears streaks his cheeks.

As if automatically, Oliver stands from his chair and jogs over to the blubbering child (the other members of staff, barring Rebekah and Dominic, all give him a seething glare). He crouches.

"Hey there," he says kindly. "What's the matter? Are you nervous?"

The little boy nods slowly, not averting his gaze from the floor.

"What's your name?"

"A-Aled…"

"Hello, Aled, my name's Oliver. There's really no need to be nervous, you know? Everybody here gets along like family. When you get sorted into your house, I promise that everyone there will look after you."

"W-What if they don't like me? What if they're mean to me?"

"If they are, I know a few good hexes I could teach you. Now, why don't you sit on the stool and put the Sorting Hat on, eh? It's alright, I'll stay here with you if you want."

"Y-Yes, please."

Aled, although suffering from very strong nerves, stumbles up to the stool, where Dumbledore places the Sorting Hat on his head. Oliver holds his hand for extra reassurance.

After a few seconds, the Sorting Hat shouts, not to my surprise, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Another gale of cheering bursts from the Hufflepuff table and a firm-yet-kind-looking girl, probably Head Girl, takes Aled away. But it seems that Oliver has made himself a new friend; the little boy wraps his arms around Oliver's leg and then goes to greet his new family. Oliver comes back to the head table with a wide smile spread across his face.

"You're amazing, you really are," I say proudly, pecking him lightly.

Dumbledore rolls the parchment back up, whisks the stool and hat from the Great Hall with a flourish of his wand and then stands in front of the head table with his arms open wide.

"Our first-years have been sorted and I'm sure that you are all waiting eagerly for our magnificent feast, but before we can satiate our groaning stomachs, I need to make some announcements.  
"First and foremost, the Forbidden Forest is not named so to give it theatrical effect; there are many different dangerous creatures amidst the trees, so all students would be wise to not venture into its mysterious depths.  
"Secondly, recent events have, unfortunately, taken a handful of staff members away from us…" he takes in a deep breath, reliving the painful memories, "We have four new people joining us this year; Professor Kelly will be your Potions master, Professor Francis will teach Herbology and Professor Harry Potter-Wood will be your Transfiguration professor, as well as the new Gryffindor Head of House. Oliver Potter-Wood will be taking over dear old Mrs Arkle's position as Child Monitor."

The students clap, although not very enthusiastically. It doesn't surprise me; I want the feast to start, too!

"Now," Dumbledore says brightly when the timid applause ends, "time to all be fed and watered!"

With a pop that fills the whole hall, every table is filled with every possible food imaginable; glittering platters piled high with juicy steaks and other meats; tureens of peas and carrots; bowls full of boiled potatoes, roasted potatoes and mashed potatoes; huge boats of gravy; chips, cod, salmon, haggis, tripe… I don't know what to eat first!

"I've missed these feasts," Oliver says with a hungry glint in his eye as he scoops a generous helping of macaroni and cheese onto his plate. "What are you having, sweetheart?"

"No idea," I say with raised eyebrows. "Even after seven years of being at Hogwarts, making my mind up about food is just as difficult."

"You seemed to have no problem choosing the casserole when you were in your second year," Oliver says quickly, shovelling food into his mouth.

"I heard that," I laugh, deciding to just go for my old favourite; beef casserole. "Wow, these meals never get old. It's as though I've never eaten here before."

I hear a squeak of delight come from behind my chair and I turn round to see Dobby standing there in his red tea cosy and mismatched socks.

"Harry Potter-Wood!"

"Dobby? Shouldn't you be down in the kitchens?"

"Dobby wanted to know if Harry Potter-Wood and Oliver Potter-Wood were enjoying the meal Dobby himself prepared for them…"

"You made these by yourself?" Oliver says with surprise. "No other House Elf helped you?"

"Dobby wouldn't allow it, sir. Dobby wants to be the only one to serve the Potter-Woods."

"Well, they're absolutely delicious, Dobby," I say. "Thank you. Here's two Galleons for you."

"Th-Thank you, sir!" Dobby stammers, catching the gold coins. "Dobby shall leave his masters to eat their meal in peace."

And with a crack, he Disapparates.

"That House Elf is unbelievable," says Oliver. "Working his arse off just to serve us? I really wish he wouldn't; I appreciate the gesture and everything, but I don't like taking advantage of him."

"It surprises me just how much more I love you each and every day," I say, laying down my knife and fork and giving him one of the warmest smiles I can muster.

"Sending shivers down my spine at the dinner table isn't exactly professional, Professor Potter-Wood. People would think we're easy…"

"We are in terms of how we act towards each other. I can get you into bed with just a flex of my little finger."

"That's definitely true, but we really shouldn't be talking about this sort of thing here…"

"It'll just have to wait until we're in bed then, won't it?"

"Yes, it will. It doesn't look as though the feast is going to last much longer, anyway."

At his words, the many different savoury foods disappear and are replaced by a plethora of desserts; treacle tart; jam roly-poly; trifle; sponge cake; apple pie and custard; rhubarb and custard; profiteroles; lemon meringue pie; Potter's Delight; doughnuts; strawberry bonbons; toffee bonbons, and mint humbugs.

I grab a bowl and help myself to a generous serving of trifle. Oliver, however, decides that he's had enough to eat.

"Are you sure?" I say concernedly. "You've barely had anything to eat. Don't forget, you're eating for three."

"And you're eating for two, at the least," he counters with a cheeky grin. "Better eat up, Harry."

"What do you think I'm doing?" I say through a mouthful of trifle, and Oliver laughs. "Having a baby certainly increases your appetite…"

"I don't think the baby's affecting your appetite just yet – you're just eating as much as you can here because you can't stand my cooking," he says this with a harmless intention, and I can tell by the warm shimmer to his eyes as he stares at my stomach that he's very much excited to become a father, even though he's already the mother to three.

"Hey, I love your cooking. Your chicken mascarpone and rice is amazing."

"Good save," he winks.

Ten minutes later, we've had our fill for the night and Dumbledore seems anxious to get us all off to bed for the start of lessons tomorrow. After that hefty meal, I'm feeling rather bloated. I put that down to the baby, though; Hogwarts meals have never been too heavy for me to digest properly.

In a simultaneous groan of wood, the entire school moves from the Great Hall towards their separate dormitories. The bell in the Clock Tower rings ten o'clock and Oliver and I are quick to make our way back over to the Astronomy Tower, where we find Hermione and Fred sat watching TV. James Sirius' toys are nowhere to be seen.

"Hello, you two," I whisper as we cross the threshold, closing the door with a quiet click, "Is James Sirius in bed?"

"Yes, he went straight to sleep at eight o'clock," says Hermione. "He even tidied up his toys before we tucked him in."

"Did he ask for a glass of water or anything?"

"A bedtime story, yeah," says Fred, "but no drink. Should we have given him one?"

"If he hasn't woken up, it's fine," Oliver says. "We'll just pop a glass of water next to him when we go to bed so he has a drink if he wakes up during the night."

"We have some news," I say in an excited, barely subdued voice. "Oliver, you go first."

"Dumbledore asked me to be the new Child Monitor!"

Hermione gives Oliver a congratulatory hug, as does Fred, but before any questions can be asked he brushes them aside with a simple wave of his hand.

"It's not me you want to be talking to – it's Harry. He has news, too."

"Let me guess," Hermione says, "You're pregnant?"

"H-How did you know?" I stutter with wide eyes.

"Wait, you're _actually_ pregnant? That was just a completely random thought! You really mean to say that you're carrying a child, Harry?"

"Yeah," I say, my smile watery. "I'm going to be a mummy."

Hermione and Fred hug me even tighter than the one they gave Oliver, and Hermione refuses to let go.

"I'm going to be an aunt for the fourth time?!" she squeals delightedly. "Harry, you're going to be a _mummy_! Oh, Oliver, you're going to be a _daddy_! I'm so happy for you two!"

"M-Mummy?" James Sirius moans tiredly from his bedroom door. "I want my mummy…"

"Mummy's here, darling, it's alright," Oliver says, walking over to the little boy and picking him up. James Sirius rests his head on Oliver's shoulder.

"I missed you, Mummy. Love you."

"I love you, too. Mummy and Daddy have something to tell you tomorrow. Best get back to bed for now, eh?"

"Thirsty…"

"I'll bring you a glass of water in shortly, angel. Go back to bed and Mummy and Daddy will tuck you in soon, alright?"

Oliver places a kiss to James' forehead, puts him back down and watches as he drags himself back to bed.

"It's hard to believe that he's seven months old…" Fred says in astonishment. "Just think, by the end of the year you'll both be parents _four times_! That's an achievement by anyone's standards."

"I'd love to have a baby…" Hermione sighs sadly. "Anyway, we'd best be getting out of your hair. Come on, Fred, let's go home."

"Right you are, Herms. Goodnight, Harry, Oliver."

With a nod and a backwards smile, Fred and Hermione leave the apartment.

Oliver goes into the kitchen to get a glass of water for James. I follow him through to the bedroom, where it seems that James Sirius has fallen straight to sleep. Being the perfectly innocent little boy he is, he clings tightly to a fluffy teddy bear Oliver bought for him a couple of months ago.

"Sleep well, sweetie," Oliver whispers, holding a motherly smile as he lays the glass of water upon the bedside table. He uses the tips of his fingers to gently sweep back the fluffy, jet-black fringe, and then places the lightest of kisses to our son's forehead. "Mummy loves you…"

"Goodnight, son," I say, also kissing his forehead, and then Oliver and I leave the bedroom, heading straight to our own bed.

When we've got undressed and are cuddling and kissing beneath the covers, it seems that Oliver is in one of the most loving moods I've ever seen – he can't stop stroking my back and the amount of times his lips brush over mine is enough to make them grow rosy and swollen.

"I love you so, so much, Snitchy. I'm sorry about not making love with you; I don't want you to be tired on your first day of work…"

"Hey, it's alright," I say gently, placing a sweet kiss to his lips, "it makes me feel loved when I know that you don't try and make love if there's something to wake up early for."

"Of course I'm going to make you feel loved," he says, and for the first time in a long while, he rests his head on my chest. "You're my wonderful, caring, loving husband, and I'll do everything I can to make sure you're happy. I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you, too, baby. First day on the job tomorrow; let's get some sleep, eh?"

"I _knew_ I should have prepared before we went to bed last night!" I shout as I run crazily around the apartment next morning, throwing clothes on and trying to eat a slice of toast at the same time.

It's not exactly professional if you fail to wake up at the designated time, especially when you're left with only ten minutes until your first lesson starts!

"Harry, calm down!" Oliver says worriedly, James Sirius looking quite nervous beside him. He grabs my shoulders and gazes at me imploringly. "Please, you're frightening me. Look, if you turn up to your first lesson looking a mess, what are your students going to think? If they wonder why you're late, improvise and do something stylish. I know! Why don't you take Snuffles and turn him into a footstool? I'm sure the kids would love that. What year are you teaching?"

"Second-years – the most they'll have learned to Transfigure would be turning a mouse into a matchbox."

"Well, there's your answer," Oliver says chirpily. "They'll think you were just getting the Crup ready."

He kisses me ever-so-passionately, telling me – as always – of his undying love, and then all three of us make our way out of the Astronomy Tower. Oliver heads towards the back of the castle whilst I veer right. Snuffles yaps at my heels as I trot along the sun-flooded lawns and through the quadrangle towards my classroom (and Professor McGonagall's former classroom), Classroom 1B. A huddle of second-years wait anxiously outside, shuffling their feet, and they seem to stiffen up a little more once they see that it's me who will be teaching them.

"Good morning, class!" I say brightly, and the words don't sound as though they're coming from my own mouth. The class remains silent, but one young boy steps forward tentatively and sticks out his hand. "This is Snuffles, he's my Crup. It's alright, he doesn't bite. Say hello, Snuffles."

The Crup's tongue lolls out daftly and he jumps up at the boy, trying to lick his face.

"Hello, Snuffles," the boy says, petting his head.

"You can all pet him once we're in the class," I say, noticing the interested expressions across the second-years' faces. "What are you waiting for, Christmas? In you go."

They do as I say, which takes me completely off-guard. I had no idea that teaching would feel like this. I'm empowered, authoritative… But I'm not going to abuse that fact.

The students disperse and divide themselves equally between the two rows of five wooden benches. Empty steel animal cages stand aloft to either side of the room, suspended by a single chain, and I wonder to myself what I could possibly fill them with as the year progresses.

"Let's try this again, shall we? My name is Professor Potter-Wood, but you can call me Harry, if you want. I'll be your Transfiguration professor for the forthcoming year. I'm also the Gryffindor Head of House, but be warned, Gryffindor students; I won't show any leniency towards rule-breaks no matter what house they're in. If you have any problems, any at all, don't be afraid to come and talk to me. Now, good morning, class!"

There's a mixed, unenthusiastic rumble of "Good morning, Professor Potter-Wood" and "Good morning, Harry" across the classroom, and I really wish they'd pay more attention. Time to put Oliver's idea into action.

"_Inanimato!_" I say loudly, pointing a finger at Snuffles.

There's a pop, and a flash of orange light fills the classroom. Where Snuffles once stood is now an exquisite footstool. With another flourish of my hand and a puff of greyish smoke, Snuffles becomes a Crup once more and starts to bark excitedly. I quickly quieten him by waving my hand.

My improvisation seems to have worked; the whole class, a sea of Gryffindor and Slytherin crests, is staring front-and-centre with wide eyes as they suddenly gain a profound and long-lasting interest in Transfiguration.

"The Inanimation charm," I begin, sounding an awful lot like Professor McGonagall. I go to carry on, but I get an extremely intense feeling of nostalgia when a red-haired girl from Gryffindor shoots her hand into the air. "Yes, Miss…?"

"Clarke, sir," the girl says politely. "Nicola Clarke."

"What is it, Nicola?"

"The Inanimation charm is used to Transfigure autonomous objects, such as animals, into inanimate objects of a comparable size."

She sounds as though she's swallowed the whole textbook, and if I wasn't able to lip-read, it would be incredibly difficult for me to make out what it is she's trying to tell me; her speed of speech makes her very seem Hermione-esque indeed, and the reactions of the other students (who let their heads fall to the desks in exasperation) tell me that this is a somewhat common occurrence.

"Well done, Miss Clarke, take ten points for Gryffindor! Yes, the Inanimation charm turns otherwise animate objects inanimate. In theory, one could use this charm on another person to disguise them. For example, a regular person could be Transfigured into a statue using this spell. To get to that level, though, you need to be very advanced at magic. Therefore, in my class the largest animals you will be trying to Inanimate shall be no bigger than a Crup.  
"I want you to take out your quills, parchment and ink and get ready to jot down some notes."

There's a rustling of paper, bags and the odd scraping of chairs as the students get their equipment out, and I find it incredibly strange to be the one using the chalkboard. When they've finished writing down the wand movements and proper incantation for the spell, I cast, "_Incantata Imitari!_" on Snuffles and give everyone a resulting clone.

For the most part of the lesson, I pace around the class and correct their stature, wand position or other parts that they may be getting wrong. But there's one smart-mouthed Slytherin student that deems it appropriate to ask why I'm not using a wand.

"I can use magic without a wand," I say simply, not meeting his gaze because I'm trying to help another Slytherin girl with her incantation. I say to her, "Think of a tomato. Pronounce it: In-ah-nee-mah-toe."

"Oi, Harry!" the boy shouts, and this time I look directly at him, still retaining my cool composure.

"Yes, Mr Baxter?"

"Why is your stomach swollen?"

"I beg your pardon? That matter of my personal life remains solely that – _personal_. It is none of your concern. Now, if you please, drop the subject."

"But it sticks out, sir," he sneers. "How am I supposed to drop it if all I can see is that ugly lump? It makes you look _fat_."

"Mr Baxter, that's quite enough!" I shout, and the classroom falls silent. "I'll have you know that I'm currently carrying a child – do _not_ ask how. Speak to Madame Pomfrey for that sort of information. Such a cheeky and disrespectful boy… Twenty points will be deducted from Slytherin and you will receive detention. Meet me at the base of the Astronomy Tower on Friday evening at eight o'clock."

"You can't give me detention! Not on the first day back!"

"As your teacher, I think you'll find that I can do a whole lot worse. Keep going the way you are, I'll take away twenty _more_ house points and a letter will be sent home for unruly behaviour. Do I make myself clear?"

He glowers at me and shows signs of determination, but when he notices that his schoolmates (who were laughing with him when he disrupted the class) have returned to their work, he finally understands that I'm not a force to be reckoned with. I smirk to myself when his hard stare falters and he, too, returns to his work.

Fifteen minutes before the bell, I'm confident that everyone has had all the directing they need, so I sit back in my padded teacher's chair and wait for the signifying pops and yellow flashes of light, which come not even half a minute after my butt reaches the seat. It seems that everyone in the class has gotten the hang of it; the only Snuffles in the room is the real one, and he's sitting obediently beside me while I stroke him.

"Well done!" I congratulate them all, even Jordan Baxter, the rude Slytherin. "Let's see… how does five points apiece sound to you all?" There's a victorious hiss across the classroom, and I take it that they're enjoying their brief taste of success. "Now, it's up to you, but you can keep the object you've Transfigured your clone into. Yes, Amelia, you can keep the rat cage as a spare."

With only ten minutes to go before the bell to signal the start of next lesson rings, I allow the class to leave early and start gathering my things. Just as she leaves the room, Nicola looks back at me with a wide grin, says, "Congratulations on your baby, Professor Potter-Wood," and skips away.

I'm not teaching second period, so I have an hour to recollect my thoughts before I dive into the hard work that I'm going to be pushing the seventh-years' way. I think I'll use this time to see how Oliver's coming along with his new job, so when my books, diary and equipment are stashed safely in my bag, I head out of the classroom through the quadrangle and into the burning day beyond.


	28. Just a Normal Family

**Chapter Twenty Eight – Just a Normal Family**

"Hello, sweetheart!"

Oliver greets me with a tight hug and a gentle kiss as I stroll into the large, square playpen behind the castle. It surprises me that he's expected to be able to look after fifteen children at once; there aren't any other Child Monitors here to help him, and from the crimson hue on his face, I can tell that he's being worked to his utmost limit.

"Daddy!"

"Hello, James!"

It seems that James Sirius has made quite a few friends; as he runs up to me so that I can pick him up, a huddle of four undoubtedly older children follow him.

"I've been playing in the sandpit and on the slide and on the swings and on the seesaw!"

"Have you? Are you enjoying playing with your new friends?"

"Yeah! They're called Ryan and Alex and Stewie and Andy." Then he whispers in my ear, "I really like Stewie…"

I glance at Oliver, who gives me a knowing smirk.

"We'll have to ask his mother if he can come and play with you sometime, then, won't we?"

"Yeah! It's going to be so much fun! Stewie, my daddy said that you can come and play with me at our house!"

"We need to ask his mummy first," Oliver tells him, and when he sees the downtrodden look on James Sirius' face, he says, "Come here and give Mummy a hug, eh?"

I let James Sirius down and he shuffles over to Oliver, who wraps his arms around him and holds him tight.

"Love you, Mummy," James Sirius says cutely, resting his head on Oliver's shoulder.

"James, he can't be your mummy," one of the boys says pointedly, "he's not a girl."

Stewie smacks him hard on the nose, and of course Oliver has to discipline the offending child.

"Stewie, you do _not_ hit other people! You're not having your juice until you say sorry to Ryan."

"Sorry, Ryan," the blonde-haired boy says immediately, and he thanks Oliver with an unexpected politeness once he has his juice returned to him.

"Odd…" I remark. "Why did Stewie hit Ryan?"

"No idea. I'll need to tell his father when I see him again, though. He can discipline him further if need be."

"That wasn't my daddy!" Stewie snickers. "That was my mummy!"

Mine and Oliver's eyes snap to each other's, one single thought running through our minds.

"Stewie, how old are you?" I say curiously.

"I heard Mummy telling my Aunt Monica that I'm eight months-old. But that was long time ago. Aunt Monica was a bad girl so the police took her away."

He says this as though it's no fact of significant importance, even smiling as he does so.

"He's Monica's _nephew_?" I say to Oliver, stunned. "That means he's Amy's cousin; why didn't Amy ask to stay with them?"

"Charlie wiped her mind, remember? It's possible that that was one of the memories she lost."

"I suppose so… Still, I'm not entirely convinced."

"Look, Monica's in prison now and we're safe from Ron here," he gives me a pleading look. "Can't we just put all this horrible mess behind us and get on with our life? We've been together for a year now and we're still waiting to have just _one_ month where nothing disruptive happens. Please, sweetheart. James Sirius has his first crush – I've seen the way he's been looking at Stewie. I know it's nothing big and it won't progress further than a friendship; nothing ever does come of childhood crushes, but the point still stands that he needs to experience young love – or whatever it is – without any interference from the outside. Long-story-short, if we can't put this behind us, James Sirius isn't going to be able to grow up."

"You're right," I sigh, finally perching myself on the wooden bench Oliver is sat on, in the shadow of a nearby tower. I place a comforting kiss to his lips. "You're absolutely right. James can't grow up if I don't bury the past. I'm sorry for putting you through this."

"Hey, it was as much my conscious decision to go through all of that as it was yours. It's over now and that's all that matters- Alana, stop pouring sand over Alex's head this instant! Don't make me put you on the naughty chair!"

The bell up at the school rings, for what I realise is the second time this hour – second period is over.

"I best head up to the castle and prepare for my next class," I say eventually, subconsciously placing a hand to my stomach and feeling the baby's very subtle movements. "I've got the seventh-year Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students. Wish me luck!"

"You aren't going anywhere without giving me and James Sirius a kiss!" he grabs my arm playfully and pulls me back down to the bench, kissing me ever-so-sweetly. He murmurs, "You look delicious in your smart teacher's robes. You might have to teach me sometime…"

I give Oliver a secretive wink and take hold of James Sirius, kiss his forehead, bid them (and the kids) goodbye, then walk out of the playpen.

"Go straight in!" I tell the seventh-years as I trot down the corridor towards the class. I really ought to start watching my punctuality…

Snuffles yaps at my heels but I don't intend him to have a purpose like he did with the second-years.

"Good morning, class," I say seriously, quickly scribbling my name down on the chalkboard. "I'm Professor Potter-Wood – you can call me Harry if you want – and I'll be teaching you for your NEWT year. I'm a fair teacher and I try to be as approachable as I can, but since this is a year where you really need to buckle down and work hard, I won't be as lenient in class as I will be outside. This is my Crup, Snuffles, he'll be walking around the class as he pleases. Feel free to pet or stroke him if comes past you. Any questions?"

"Sir, are you pregnant?" a Ravenclaw boy says curiously.

"Not that it bears any relevance to the lesson, but yes, I'm two weeks pregnant with my husband's child. Anything else you'd like to ask?"

"I've got a question," a familiar voice says, taking me by surprise when it pops out from a far corner. "When are you going to say hello to me?"

"When we're outside of class, Ginny," I say simply, not turning round to face her as I add the objectives of the lesson to the board. "When we're in class, I'm not your friend."

I hear a dull thud as her head falls to her desk, and I chuckle to myself.

"So, what are you going to be teaching us this year?" a Ravenclaw boy asks.

"Full-Body Transfiguration," I say simply, turning at last to face my class. There's an apprehensive electricity in the air as the class hangs on to my every word. I don't quite remember the topic being _quite_ so anticipated a few months ago… "Not an easy task by any means, nor is it one that you should try to attempt on yourself no matter what level of magic you are at – who do you expect is going to change you back once you Transfigure yourself?" Multiple hands sprout up and I find it strange to actually have a choice of who I want to answer the question. "Erm… Lysander, who do you think would have to change you back if nobody else was around?"

"The Accidental Magic Reversal Squad will, sir."

"Five points for Ravenclaw. Yes, the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad has had more call-outs to reverse Full-Body Transfiguration than any other type of magical injury. Moreover, the most common age of such victims happens to be that of seventh-year students, which is why you won't be Transfiguring your entire body until I'm confident enough you can manage it. Instead, you'll start by changing your fingers and toes into flower buds, and then you'll move on to turning your legs into a tree trunk before you can take the full test and try to turn someone else into a tree. Of course, I'll be there to reverse the magic so there's no need to worry. I want you all to take out your wand, point it at one of your fingers, give it a little flick and say 'Cortico'. All of you, try it now and I'll correct you if need be."

A few students manage to get the spell right the first time, but that's fifteen percent of the class at most. The rest of the class are finding it very difficult to get the precise wand movement, and some of them are even having difficulty with their incantation.

"Sir, I can't get the spell right!"

"First, you want to hold your wand the _right_ way around, Mr Rhodes," (a group of girls nearby snigger), "and then you point it at your finger, give it a flick and say 'Cortico'."

"_Cortico!_"

Several cries of the spell fill my ears and it seems that Rhodes wasn't the only one who was struggling to cast it. There's a creaking sound, like that of wood, and a few flashes of emerald light dazzle me. When my sight returns, I see that quite a lot of the students have successfully changed their fingers into flower buds, but the rest have made no progress at all.

By now, there are ten minutes of the lesson left and I don't think that there's any point in going over the spell one more time; doing so would leave the class with barely two minutes to keep practicing. So I tell them to pack their things and award five house points per head to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. But just as they attempt to leave the classroom, I shout them back.

"Seventh year also means more homework," I say with a sly grin. There's a simultaneous groan, one that I'm familiar with, and the whole class shuffles back to their seats. "I never said you had to sit back down. All I want you to do is go over what we went through today. Practice and practice hard, because I expect you all to be able to Transfigure your fingers into flower buds by next lesson – tomorrow, last period. If you have any problems, don't hesitate to come to me. Alright, you can go."

"Honey, I'm home!" I call from the living area of our apartment, greeting Oliver with wide arms.

It's seven o'clock – who would have thought that a teacher would have four hours of marking to do on the first day of term? Then I realise that I probably shouldn't have set my third-year class all that work to do in one hour.

"So, how was my amazing husband's first day of teaching?" Oliver asks, pressing himself right up against me, pulling me into a tight hug, and nuzzling himself into my neck.

"This whole teaching lark is a lot more work than I expected it to be. I still had a great time with the first-years last period, though."

I sigh in relief as I take the weight off my feet and sprawl on the sofa. James Sirius walks over to me.

"Daddy, I want a hug!" I grab him on the sides and hoist him off the floor, delighting in his adorably joyous squawks as I hold him in the air above me. Then I bring him down onto my chest and he wraps his tiny arms around me. "I love you, Daddy…"

"I love you, too, son. Have you been a good boy for Mummy?"

"He's been a little angel as always," Oliver says proudly. I see him wince slightly out the corner of my eye. "The babies are kicking!"

Instantly, I sit upright and put James on the sofa as Oliver sits next to me, and my hands place themselves on the noticeable baby bump.

There's the tiniest of ripples beneath Oliver's skin and two lumps grope outwards at either side – my unborn children's feet. They shrink back inside, but they make a return just a few seconds later and this time they press into my palms.

"Oh…" is all I can say. I can only imagine what it's going to be like for me when the baby inside me starts to kick. "James, come here and feel Mummy's belly. Your little brother and sister are in there."

James crawls over my knees with caution, as though worried that there's a beast nearby, waiting to strike out at him, but when Oliver assures him that nothing bad is going to happen, he plonks himself between us.

"Put your hand here," Oliver instructs him, and I move my hand so that he can feel his siblings move. A kick from the hidden babies startles him and he jumps backwards so fast that he almost headbutts my glasses.

"Easy there, James," I chortle, stabilising him. "It's alright. That was your little brother and sister."

"Speaking of which, do you want to know what Mummy and Daddy have to tell you?" Oliver says rousingly, and it has the effect of making James Sirius seem very interested.

"Yeah! Have you got me a present?"

"No," I laugh, and James turns to face me with a scowl. "Don't look at me like that, James, it's something far better than a present. You're going to have a third brother or sister, but this time the baby is going to be inside me."

"Why?"

"Because Mummy made love to Daddy and Daddy fell pregnant," Oliver explains. "You'll understand more when you're older, don't worry, angel. And what is it I'm hearing about you liking Stewie, eh?"

James Sirius blushes a vibrant shade of fuchsia, muttering shyly, "Nothing…"

"Hey, there's nothing to be embarrassed about, darling," Oliver says, sitting him on his lap. "If you like someone, you like someone. And if you think it matters that Stewie is a boy like you, you need to think again; Mummy and Daddy are both boys."

"Love you, Mummy," James says distractingly, and Oliver and I glance at each other. We'll leave this where it is for now.

"I love you, too, my little angel," Oliver replies, hugging James with a serene smile. "Look at the time, it's ten past eight! You've been awake for ten minutes longer than you should have been, young man. Time for bed."

"But Mummy!" James Sirius whines.

"No 'buts', James. Little boys like you need their sleep, and if you want Stewie to come and play on Wednesday, you're going to have to behave yourself. Okay?"

"Okay."

With a huffy sigh, James Sirius drags himself off to his bedroom, and Oliver follows closely behind with a glass of water and whole bucketful of goodnight kisses. When our son is fed up with Oliver's lips planting themselves to his forehead, I peck him goodnight and help Oliver tuck him in.

"Goodnight, my precious boy," Oliver coos, hugging James one last time before coming out of the bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

He collapses onto the sofa with a comfortable grunt and puts his feet on the coffee table.

"So, how was your day?" I say conversationally.

"Eventful, to say the least; the kids wouldn't stop screaming; only three of the twelve of them – including James Sirius – actually went to sleep at naptime; one boy kept pulling a poor girl's hair, and I had three kids fighting over whose turn it was on the swings. I'm just glad to be home with you and James. I love you, Snitchy…"

"I love you, too, baby. Say, James Sirius is fast asleep and I'm feeling particularly loving tonight…"

"I know what you're getting at."

Oliver winks at me and then straddles me atop the sofa. He kisses me gently, but with distinct hunger.

"So, Professor Potter-Wood… what was it you were going to teach me?"

"I was going to teach you a new meaning to the word 'intimacy'…"

"Awwwww, so sweet. Why don't we speed things up a little bit by getting naked, hm?"

He grips the hem of my shirt and pulls it up and over my head. Then he jumps off my legs, removes his own shirt and gets both our lower bodies naked save for our underwear.

Our clothed crotches connect as he straddles me yet again, and he entangles our lips to deliver a kiss packed with enthusiastic passion. Rotating his hips in a slow circular motion has the effect of making me shiver, and I subconsciously drag my nails down his back wantonly.

Oliver clamps his lips to my neck and I hold him close, not sure whether I want to make love to him or whether I want to hug him. He suckles on my neck so hard that I feel the hickey rise to the surface, and I decide to cop a cheeky stroke while I can; my hand dips into his underwear and I graze the already-sopping log of flesh within.

Wrapping my nimble fingers around his entirety, I sweep my palm up the shaft and squeeze the tip, savouring his gratified gasps as reverse the motion. I pull away moments later with strings of precum attached to my fingers.

"You always feel so good around me…" he breathes, pulling down not just his own underwear, but mine as well. "But then you feel absolutely astounding when you're inside me. I need to feel you…"

"I need to suck on that beautiful cock… Stand on the sofa…"

I let Oliver use my shoulders as leverage so that he can stand on the sofa with his muscle-bolstered legs to either side of me. His fat, juicy dick rests placidly on my lips. I want to tease him, but I know that if I open my mouth to talk to him, he's going to take advantage of the open cavern. Wait a minute, aren't I the teacher here?

"Stay very still," I say with a commanding voice, and Oliver shudders with delight.

"Oooh, Professor Potter-Wood! You're so – _authoritative_ – tonight…"

"Mr Potter-Wood, speak only when spoken to and do exactly as I say, nothing more. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. What are you going to do to me?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out…"

With a wink that I probably shouldn't use if I want to stay in-character, I let my tongue free and flick oh-so-minutely at Oliver's frosted tip. He purrs and curls his fingers in my jetty locks. I make a movement as though I'm going to swallow him whole, but instead of his cock sliding deep into my throat, I let my lips simply brush over him as I actually trail a path down to the subtle dusting of hair in his pubic area. I nibble around the root of his shaft, and his grasp tightens.

"Oh, you big tease!"

I spank him thrice.

"Naughty students deserve to be punished, Mr Potter-Wood. You spoke out of turn."

"I'm sorry, Professor. How can I make it up to you?"

"Fucking my throat is a good place to start…" I lick around in his furriness for a moment before drawing back up and opening my mouth at last.

The first four inches of his dick are a complete breeze, but the other five are what I call a feast. The head of his dick hits the back of my throat. I don't retch, but I do have to force a yawn so that my throat opens wide enough to accommodate his impressive length and girth.

"Ohhhh… sir…"

Pushing all the way down until I'm nestled in amongst his pubes once again, I constrict my throat muscles strategically until I hear him panting, and I know that I'm doing the right thing because there's a certain pain in my skull from his vice-like hold.

His moans escalate and I'm worried that James Sirius is going to wake up and catch us in the act. So I give my hand a lightning-fast flourish and cast an Imperturbable charm over the living room.

"Sir!" Oliver withdraws his cock minimally from my mouth and then pushes it back down my throat. "Your mouth… so warm… so wet… so _tight_…"

I purse my lips around his length and flail my tongue around, basking in the sense of achievement I get when he bucks his hips deep into my mouth with a very low growl.

Humming as quietly as I can, but enough to make a few delicious vibrations, I bob my head in a long movement and sweep my hands up the back of his legs, cup his firm arse cheeks, and then stroke up his torso until I can feel his nipples perking out, begging to be stimulated.

So I tweak them minutely and realise that this might not have been the wisest thing for me to do; his legs buckle and his cock slips out of my mouth as he crumbles on top of me.

I grunt under his sudden weight.

"I'm sorry, Professor… It's just, you're so good at this…"

"Mr Potter-Wood, grant me access…"

Oliver gazes at me with a warm gleam in his eyes and he kisses me sweetly. Then he lifts himself off my legs, points his delicate rosebud in my direction and allows me to slather him with a generous amount of lubricant.

I lubricate myself and, after making sure that Oliver is as slippery as possible, I grip his hips in the hopes of aiding him during his sensual shifts.

Making sure that he's lined up neatly with the head of hungry, raging cock, I give him an encouraging smile and sigh audibly when he lowers himself, slowly but surely. His entrance expands around the helmet and in no time at all, I'm engulfed by a sensation of unlimited warmth. His silken walls hug me as I burrow my way deeper into his vast depths, and when I'm halfway through penetrating him to the fullest capacity, I feel that familiar marble of nerves brush against my being.

Oliver quivers and quakes with desire on top of me, muttering something that I can't quite understand, and as he continues to push further down, absorbing my soul even more, his whimpers accelerate to babbling, and his once quiet tone becomes a wail of pleasure.

"Professor, this might seem like a tad inappropriate thing for me to say, but… I think I'm in love with you."

"Shhhh…" With my eyes closed, I place a finger to Oliver's lips while snaking an arm around his waist and pulling him so close that his cock rubs up against my torso. "I'm not your teacher anymore, baby… I'm your husband and I want to make love to you. Are you comfortable?"

"Comfortable doesn't even begin to describe it, sweetheart." Oliver gives me a tender kiss. "Hold me close… Being intimate with you is the best part of making love…"

I brush his hair back lightly with my hand and then tie both my arms around his middle until he's as close to me as humanly possible.

"Mph…" I grunt. "It's so hot and smooth inside you… Baby, move…"

Even the tiniest of movements from Oliver causes us both to moan out loud, and as my cock partially leaves his body, exposing eighty percent of the appendage to cold air, my enjoyment of our lovemaking triples. When he falls back into my lap, I get an unexpected, newfound thrill – instead of simply stopping a few inches above Oliver's prostate, I keep going further and further into him until I hit a barricade of hard, fleshy muscle, and the racket that explodes from Oliver's lungs is almost deafening.

In one long, drawn-out scream, Oliver rotates his hips and presses down so hard that it's as though he's trying to tear my manhood off. But when he constricts the muscles in his arse and shakes himself rapidly, my cock wriggling around inside him like a pipe cleaner, it becomes very difficult for me to contain my almost-overpowering orgasm.

"FUCK, HARRY! YOU'VE NEVER GONE THIS DEEP BEFORE!"

"You like that?" Instead of posing the question in an erotic way, though, it comes across as more of a squeak than anything else. "You want more?"

"Don't just want it – _need_ it… Oh, honey… I love you so, so much…"

He crushes his lips to mine and our bodies are so tightly-packed that it's a miracle neither of our heads have popped off from the pressure. His dick is rubbing my torso raw and he's getting precum all over the sofa, but it's far less compared to what he about to unleash-

He roars, making the whole living room tremor, and his grip on my shoulders becomes strong that his nails, even though they're as blunt as can be, draw tiny amounts of blood. He bounces wildly on top of me and snaps his legs shut around my torso, squeezing me as if I were an almost-empty tube of toothpaste. Then it all comes to a very creamy head and his cock erupts with countless ropes of cum which, no matter how hard I try to comprehend it, manage to coat the ceiling in a thick layer of seedy emulsion.

Oscillating muscles surrounding my abused length begin to pump cum out of me as though I'm a straw, and before I can get a firm grasp on what's happening to my body, Oliver is lucky enough to be chosen as my own personal teddy bear; I nuzzle into his neck, ramble my mixed love and pleasure through painfully-squinted eyes, and shudder so violently that the pleasure from him multiplies by five. In the end, it's all far too much for me to bear and my soul soars freely. Like a nuclear explosion at a dairy farm, I splatter Oliver with semen, inside and out.

My tongue gets shoved rudely into his mouth and he can no longer, but he doesn't mind; we have neither the energy nor the ability to talk right now, so we settle for doing what we do best – after a few minutes of deep breaths and using cleaning spells, Oliver uses a Stretching charm to make the sofa into a temporary double bed, summons our covers from the bedroom and then lies with his back facing me. Without a second thought, I shuffle up to him until my dick is resting placidly between his butt cheeks and then I place a gentle kiss to the back of his neck.

"I love you. Sleep well, my precious, sweet Ollie."

And on that note, I press myself into his cushiony, muscular back and swiftly drift off into a peaceful, deep slumber.

Over the coming days, I find myself to be engaging Oliver in lovemaking even more often. Twice a day – morning and night – you'd be able to find us in the bedroom shaking the bed along the floor and rattling the headboard against the wall. Of course, more lovemaking means more cleaning up, but we have magic for a reason.

I have a theory that Oliver and I are having sex so much due to the hormones in our bodies from the babies, and I'm not exactly complaining; any opportunity I have to make love to Oliver is one that I'll be all-too-willing to take, and showing him just how much he means to me is having the desired effect of making him extra attentive in everyday life, not that he wasn't already attentive, anyway.

Unfortunately, Stewie wasn't feeling well on the day he was due to play with James, so Oliver and I spent the majority of the Wednesday night trying to console our teary little boy.

It's the small things that matter, so when I wake up on the Friday morning to find that Oliver has left me a note (saying he's gone to the grocery store), a rose and a bowl of cereal on the bedside table, I know a contented tingling down my spine.

Three o'clock comes faster than I anticipated and I'd have completely forgotten that I'd given Jordan Baxter detention if he didn't come up to me during last period and ask me to remind him what time he needed to be at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower. I tell him to meet me at eight o'clock and then the bell to signal the end of the day rings.

Forgetting that I was supposed to give a student detention also has the effect of making me forget what his punishment would be, but then I see Oliver and James Sirius when I get home and inspiration strikes me.

Jordan doesn't see how male pregnancy is hardly any different to female pregnancy, and he certainly doesn't understand that having two males as a mother and father has no effect on a child's upbringing.

"Ollie?" I say cautiously, wanting to okay my plan with him first.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Oliver responds chirpily as he clatters around the kitchen preparing macaroni and cheese.

"I've got a detention to give at eight o'clock, and I was wondering if I could bring the student here. He doesn't understand male pregnancy, see, and I was just hoping to teach him that we're like any other family…"

"Yeah, of course you can bring him here. Why did you sound so nervous when you asked, though?"

"I wasn't sure whether you'd be okay with me bringing a student into the apartment. I was worried that you'd think I'm putting work before you and James Sirius."

"Oh, Harry…" he sighs, laying his tea towel down on the counter and embracing me. "You're doing what's right for the kid. I don't expect you to devote all your time to your family, sweetheart, I know that you need to work. Besides, it's not as though James Sirius is missing out on some quality time with you; you play with him all day on weekends and from the minute you get home. Don't worry about it, honey, you're an amazing father. And you can't say I'm neglected; I'm still limping after last night," he adds with a chuckle.

"Mummy, can't I stay awake just a little bit longer? Please, oh please, oh please?" James Sirius assaults Oliver with a pair of bulbous, hazel eyes, and his mother is nobody to refuse such an angelic method of pleading.

"Alright, but _only_ for half an hour. After that, it's straight to bed with you, young man. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yay! Love you, Mummy!"

Smirking to myself and with ten minutes before Jordan is meant to be at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower, I head out of the apartment, down the spiral staircase and into the blazing heat of the late-evening sun, but the student himself is already waiting for me, it seems.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks agitatedly.

"Watch your tone," I warn him. "Tonight, you'll be helping my husband and I look after our son. It seems that you could do with understanding that a family with two males as the parents is no different to a conventional family. Come."

I lead him back into my living quarters, where Oliver is playing with James Sirius on the couch.

"Daddy, who's that boy?"

"His name's Jordan, James. Ollie, I'd like you to meet Jordan Baxter. This is the boy that doesn't see how male-parented families could work."

"I see," Oliver says, frowning.

"This is a punishment, remember, Jordan. Do as you're told and you'll be fine. You can start by playing with James Sirius. Wipe that disgusted look from your face! He's a little boy, our son, not an alien!"

Jordan is highly startled by my outburst and his eyes widen with shock. "S-Sorry," he mumbles quickly.

"Hello, Jordan, can you come and play with me?" James says innocently as Jordan approaches him. "You can be the dinosaur and I'll be the turtle."

Jordan casts a furtive glance back at me and I give him a reaffirming nod.

For the first few minutes it seems that he's uncomfortable with entertaining our son, but when Oliver kneels beside him and has a very stern word, his demeanour changes.

Eventually, Jordan warms to our family and he starts to laugh with our son, who sees him as a sort of new friend.

"I thought you said that this was a punishment…" Jordan says confusedly after twenty minutes, and James Sirius starts to rub his bleary eyes.

"Did it start out as such?"

There's a tense silence for a moment, but then Jordan's eyes sparkle in realisation. "Yeah, it did. But now, I'm not sure. I had a really great time playing with James…"

"Do you see what it was that I was trying to teach you, now?"

"I do. You were showing me that two men as the head of a family is no different than a man and a woman. And there's nothing with that, I realise that now. Thank you, sir."

"You're very welcome. You can go back to your dormitory, now; it's James Sirius' bedtime and I daresay that you're raring to get back to your friends."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir." With a grateful smile and a nod, Jordan leaves the apartment.

"I think that went rather well," I say happily to Oliver. "He's finally gotten the picture that we're just a normal family like everyone else."

"I'm so proud of you, honey. You're opening the world's eyes to male pregnancy… Come on, angel, it's time for bed. You've been yawning for the last ten minutes." Oliver picks up James Sirius, who rests his head placidly on his mother's shoulder and falls straight to sleep. We go through to the bedroom, where Oliver lays James Sirius on the mattress as gingerly as he can, and then he pecks his head before tucking him in. "Bless his sweet heart. I love you, my little angel…"

"Goodnight, son…"

Once James Sirius is tucked in comfortably, Oliver and I head back into the living room and kiss for a while with the TV on in the background. What I taught Jordan is true; Oliver, myself and James Sirius are a family just like any other, and the only major difference is that two men head the family instead of a man and a woman. This time last year, I wouldn't have thought that my life would be where it is now, and it seems that nothing can possibly go wrong anymore-

"_We interrupt this programme to deliver some breaking news. Attempted murderer and former Hogwarts student Draco Malfoy has broken out of Azkaban prison._"


	29. The Delicate Rose

**Chapter Twenty Nine – The Delicate Rose**

My eyes widen like dinner plates and I stare at the TV in horror. Acting upon my first instincts, I cast a whole host of protective enchantments over the entire Astronomy Tower without standing or making much movement with my hand.

"_Authorities have confirmed that the eighteen year-old, sentenced to life in Azkaban for the attempted murder of Harry and Oliver Potter-Wood, has forced his way out of the maximum security wizarding prison. It is also believed that convicted multiple-murderer Monica Geller escaped during the confusion caused by the teenager's distractive explosion. More information will be delivered as it comes in._"

Tension the weight of lead impacts the living room and I sit in stunned silence, Oliver watching me cautiously. This can't be happening…

"Harry, we'll be fine," he says quickly. "Malfoy won't get anywhere near us with Dumbledore around, and neither will Monica. Look at me. They'll catch them in the end."

"When exactly is 'in the end' going to be, though?" I say sceptically. "You know what, I'm done with running away. If I see either of them around here, they're dead. No arguing, no discussions, just pure, uninterrupted fighting. I've had my family being messed around for far too long. I'm making a stand!"

"And I'll make the stand with you!" Oliver says, jumping to his feet. "Nobody stands in the way of me and my family living together!"

There's a heavy rapping on the door to the apartment and I wonder who the hell could be calling at this hour.

"Who is it?"

"It's Ron, but-"

"How did you find us?!"

"Hermione told me, but I can explain everything, honest! Please, let me in! I'm unarmed!"

"You'd better be," I say warningly, creeping up to the door and opening it quietly.

Standing there in a muddy sweater that's far too small for his tall stature is Ron, looking forlorn and exhausted. He raises his arms to prove his innocence and then moves into the room.

"What are you after, you vile piece of filth?" Oliver spits. "Want to attack our family a little more? Think it's _fun_, do you?"

"Fun? You think I found attacking people _fun_? I wouldn't have found it fun if I'd been thinking straight."

"Please, you _were_ thinking straight," I snarl. "You seemed to be pretty clear about what you were doing when you tried to kill Hermione and James Sirius-"

"How's James Sirius doing, anyway?"

"He's doing fine- Don't try and change the subject! You were fully aware of what you were doing-!"

"I was Imperiused! My memory has been patchy in places ever since I came back to life! All I can remember is seeing a little boy with blonde hair and then everything went black. I woke up in bed at home and remembered nothing."

"How do you know you were Imperiused if you can't remember a thing?" Oliver says pointedly.

"According to Hermione, I was back at The Burrow about an hour ago and I tried to kill her again. But then she saw that my eyes were misted over and my face went completely blank at times. She cast the counter curse, I went back to my normal self and then I explained that everything was a blur to me."

"Wait, so you're saying you _didn't_ mean all those horrible things about James Sirius?"

"What horrible things?" he says worriedly. "I wasn't being a disgusting prick towards the little guy, was I?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, you were," I say with a look of contempt. "You called him a freak of nature-"

"Harry, Oliver, I'm so, so sorry! Please, forgive me! If you don't believe that I really do mean these apologies, put this phial of Veritaserum into a glass of water and give it to me."

I raise an eyebrow in contemplation and scrutinise Ron's attire. As I turn towards the kitchen to get a glass of water, Oliver puts his hand on my shoulder and stops me.

"Harry, look at him," he whispers. "He's filthy, he looks exhausted and he's begging for you to drug him so that he can prove he's innocent. Sweetheart, I think he really _was_ Imperiused…"

"Well, if you believe him, that's good enough for me."

"Harry?" Ron says.

"Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Ollie, can you make us all a cup of tea, please?"

"Yeah, sure."

Ron looks at me bewilderedly, but then I clean his clothes and repair the tears on his trousers with a wave of my hand. I stand up and pull him into a welcoming hug, finding myself crying at finally being reunited with my best friend.

"Welcome back, mate," I say with a wet smile. "You _really_ don't remember anything?"

"Not a single thing. Like I said, all I can remember is a kid with blonde hair. That was it."

"You know that there have been murders going on, right?"

"Yeah, Hermione told me. She also told me that her and Fred are going out now, which kind of hurts a little bit. I can't believe Neville and Luna are gone…"

"Ron, that boy you remember is the one who killed those people, but he had a helper. Her name was-"

"Oh, I remember now!" Ron says suddenly. "Yeah, she-"

"Looked like that?" I say, pointing to a mug shot of Monica on the TV.

"_Once a high-ranking member of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, Monica Geller's case against Ronald Weasley was cut short when it came to light that she had been involved in a series of grisly murders at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Mr Weasley has since been released without charge and the former officer was sentenced to a life in Azkaban._"

"Her? No, that wasn't her," Ron says with a resolute shake of his head. "There's a close resemblance, but her name wasn't Monica. There were funny-coloured tips to her hair."

My mug of tea falls onto the carpet as I freeze in terror, and Oliver and I both stare at Ron as though he's mutated into a three-headed mongoose.

"A-Amy…" I stutter. "After all this time… Oliver, it was _Amy_! She knows where we are… we're in danger… We need to go and we need to go now! We can't stick around!"

"Harry, what was it you said not five minutes before Ron arrived? We'll fight through this? That's exactly what we're going to do. We'll live our life like normal, and if Amy appears we'll just fight her until she's dead. Why is it _always_ the ones you thought you could trust?"

As if automatically, I drift into James Sirius' bedroom to see that he's asleep, wrapped snugly around his fluffy teddy bear.

"Ron, you can sleep on the sofa tonight, if you like. Ollie, I want an early night."

"Fine by me," Oliver says with a yawn. "Help yourself to the fridge, Ron, and if you want to take a bath or shower, feel free to do so. Watch whatever you like on the TV."

Ron thanks us as we make our way to bed, and we're undressed and beneath the covers, the last thing I hear before drifting off into an uncomfortable sleep is the splashing of water coming from the bathroom.

Halfway through September, Dumbledore announces that the Quidditch stadium has been rebuilt after being used for the Magic is Might tournament and that the new season will start on the third of October.

There's an excited buzz throughout the castle, and I'd probably be excited, too, were it not for Malfoy and Monica's escape from prison. Amy poses a significant threat also, but my concerns over her right now are not quite as troublesome as those that I hold about the Azkaban escapees; Malfoy will want revenge for being sent to Azkaban, and Monica won't be too pleased about being wrongly accused. Their first stop is, undoubtedly, going to be Hogwarts.

As the month progresses and autumn creeps over the grounds, turning the once vibrant leaves brown, summer becomes nothing more than a pleasant memory.

It's business as usual in the school; my seventh-years are being worked to their utmost limit whilst my first-years make the most of their initial-month leniency; once we hit October, I'm going to be far more strict in class, and they've been warned about his too many times for them to forget.

With more details about the Azkaban breakout being steadily given through regular news bulletins, I decide to follow the advice that the Ministry is giving out – the apartment gets protected by Anti-Apparition spells, Curse-Repelling charms and Reinforcement charms, which, when put together with the enchantments around the castle itself, make my living quarters an impregnable fortress.

My pregnancy accelerates alarmingly fast, but Oliver assures me that it usually appears faster to the host than it does to the inducer – his pregnancy with James Sirius only felt like it lasted a month, apparently.

By the end of September, my baby bump has grown to a decent size – about the size of a baseball – and I have moments where my train of thought falters and I gaze absent-mindedly at my stomach. It can happen whilst I'm teaching, it can happen whilst I'm at home, but no matter where my concentration slips I always end up in floods of jubilant tears.

I've had no morning sickness, and blackouts have been extremely rare, but as Oliver constantly reminds me every pregnancy is different. Still, I just wish that I'd be able to experience them at least once…

There's only a month left to go before my baby's expected arrival and my hormones are becoming so hard to control that Dumbledore has no choice but to grant me maternity leave – it's thrust upon me before I have a chance to say no.

Having maternity leave isn't too bad, I guess; Oliver's looks after me and I look after him, and even little James Sirius wants to help.

"Mummy, can I take Daddy's cup of tea in for him?" he asks cutely one wet day at the start of October.

"Yes, but make sure you don't drop it or spill it on yourself, okay?"

Even though I'm on maternity leave and it's probably best that I avoid long flights of steps, I feel the need to do a little bit of walking each day so that I don't fall into any bad habits. Oliver doesn't seem to mind me leaving the apartment – in fact, he often brings James along with him and we take a family stroll around the grounds.

As much as we enjoy the occasional walk, Hogsmeade is the furthest away from the castle that Oliver and I are willing to go. Unfortunately, that also means that I'll be giving birth to this baby without any knowledge of its gender, but at least my mother has already taken the initiative and bought new baby clothes for both male and female.

It might be autumn, but there are still a few warm, sunny days here-and-there. So we take every opportunity we can to have a picnic out on the lawns.

"Daddy, look, a flutterby!" James shouts excitedly, and he points at a crimson-and-black butterfly on his nose.

"_Butterfly_," Oliver corrects him, mindlessly flattening a corner of the red- and white-chequered blanket we're sat on.

James blows upwards in an attempt to get the butterfly off his nose; his squirming and giggling say that he's finding its wings to be rather ticklish.

I glance around at the open space down by the Black Lake and get the strangest feeling of déjà vu – there's something oddly familiar about Oliver's light-blue vest and grey shorts, and my own vivid-yellow t-shirt and denim jeans aren't exactly à la mod.

Then again, neither is the range of fruits on the saucers in front of us.

The surface of the water glitters beside us and the sun beams hot sunshine down upon the castle.

When my eyes fix on a plate of Potter's Delight, however, memories flood into my brain like lost artefacts at an ancient history museum.

"I thought I remembered this, somehow!" I say loudly, alarming Oliver from his light snooze. "The night you first slept in my bedroom, I had a dream that I kissed you by the Black Lake. We were wearing these _exact_ clothes and everything was laid out as it is now!"

"That's quite the dream you had," Oliver sighs a laugh. "You remembered this from over a year ago?"

"Hey, I'm not going to forget _anything_ I do with you; everything we do is memorable."

I peck him lightly on the cheek.

There's a glint of red-and-black out the corner of my eye and my head snaps round in the direction of a cluster of dark trees. At first, my heart sinks with the possibility of it being Amy, but then I realise that it's just a wild Venomous Tentacula at the base of an old oak tree. I shake my head – I worry too much.

An hour or so later, we start packing up and head back to our living quarters in the Astronomy Tower.

I hope to myself that we have more days like this, but, alas, as the middle of October draws near, we find that the remnants of summer have fled from the overpoweringly bitter autumn wind.

Left with nothing but stinging eyes and biting skin each day when he returns home from work, it's up to me to ensure that Oliver is as comfortable and warm as can be – a job that I'm always willing to take up. A hot, bubbly bath with me and a nice backrub are all it takes to get him to unwind, although there are times when we're in the middle of making love in the tub and James Sirius decides to make an impromptu appearance, but when he sees myself on top of Oliver – and vice versa – he quickly leaves.

Only two weeks left of my pregnancy and I'm starting to get a little worried about the pain I might endure, but that's nothing compared to how I feel with regards to the danger I _know_ is coming this way.

"Oliver, be careful walking around, alright?" I say seriously one morning as Oliver gets ready for work. "If anything happened to you or James…"

"Honey, we'll be fine. Dumbledore's around, isn't he?" he says, yet his voice drips uncertainty. "I'll Floo back, if I have to."

After much begging, I finally convince Oliver to come home using the Floo network every day.

With a mere week before my expected due date, I find myself with something to look forward to – the annual Halloween Dance.

Last year hadn't ended so well – well, it wouldn't if someone had been murdered – but I'd managed to sneak off to the changing rooms with Oliver and have a quick bit of lovemaking. When we returned, intent on slipping back into the crowd without anyone noticing, we found that Griselda Snortson, the Ravenclaw Quidditch coach, was being levitated in the air by an unseen force (the Nocturnimagi). Then her neck twisted grotesquely and the whole school descended into chaos.

Hopefully, nothing like that will happen this year.

One evening at dinner, I feel a strange knotting sensation in my stomach. Then a split-second sharp pain shoots across my abdomen.

"Ow!" I yelp, clapping a hand to my body and dropping my fork.

Oliver – and everyone else in the hall – snaps his head in my direction and I can see the mixed sympathy and excitement in his eyes.

"Mummy, what's wrong with Daddy?"

Another sharp pain attacks me, and then I topple from the chair onto the floor, screaming. This time, Oliver's face assumes an expression of deepest concern.

"Easy, sweetheart," he says gently, helping me to my feet. "Albus, he needs to get to the hospital now. James, your little brother or sister is on its way and it's hurting Daddy."

My eyes open wide at this, and even though I know it's true I can't help but shake my head and assure them that I'm fine.

"What did the pain feel like?" Oliver asks me, seeing through my transparent guise.

I tell him of the knots in my stomach and pain like knives across my body. At first, it appears as though he's buying into my assurances that I feel fine, but when I'm crippled yet again and collapse to the floor, he's adamant that I'm going to the hospital.

"Sir, your stomach's shaking!" a girl at the Gryffindor table shouts.

"I don't care what you say to me," Oliver says sternly, "you're going to the hospital. Snitchy, you're going into _labour_, for Merlin's sake!"

"No, I-I'll be fine!" I utter through gritted teeth, and then my legs give way.

Like a fire raging throughout my entire system, it feels as though this baby's going to tear me apart from the inside, out.

"Ron, get Lily, James, Hermione and whoever the hell else!" Oliver commands. "Stay close, James!"

He grabs mine and James Sirius' arms and Disapparates hastily. My arm jerks awkwardly in his direction and then the Great Hall disappears in a whirl of emerald, scarlet, topaz and cobalt.

"We need help!" Oliver bellows from the reception area of St Mungo's.

A herd of five Healers comes bustling down the corridor, nursing caps askew and looking distinctly ruffled. My sight goes blank as my spine spasms and I wrench automatically from Oliver's grip.

I roll around on the floor in agony and clutch my torso as four of the five Healers scarper to get help. One of them remains behind and I instantly realise who it is.

"S-Sarah!" I gasp. "Help me!"

She kneels beside me and opens a Midwitchery kit, taking out several phials of bluish potion, one of which she places to my mouth.

"Stay still!" she says hurriedly.

I try my best to prevent more movement, but just as the final dregs of potion drip into my mouth, I'm struck by another tremendous bolt of pain. This is even worse than the Cruciatus curse.

"It's alright, sweetheart, I'm here," Oliver says soothingly, and he strokes my head, not that it works. "Be strong, my love, be strong for the baby."

"I-It hurts!" I cry.

"I know, honey, I know it hurts. But I promise you, once you get this baby out of your body it's going to feel so much better. And you'll realise that having the child is definitely worth the pain."

Grabbing the back of his head and filled with a desperate need for love, I pull him into a crushing kiss that causes a change in my body's workings.

The pain vanishes in the blink of an eye and I can do nothing but lay where I am.

"Ollie…" I pant, pushing myself up with the palms of my hands. "Hold me, I'm begging you…"

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, peppering my forehead with kisses and wiping my tears away.

"It'll be over soon, sweetheart…" he says quietly.

"That potion should get to work in the next fifteen minutes," Sarah Hunter tells us. "I've modified it to get to work faster."

A Midwitch-turned-vigilante, she helped us take down Blue Swan and Shadow Dragon when the Universe was at stake. I'll never forget what she did to help Oliver when he went into labour…

James Sirius tangles himself around my torso and hugs me tightly, obviously trying to comfort me.

"Get better soon, Daddy," he says cutely, and I smile through a waterfall of tears.

My mother shrieks my name as she, Dad, Hermione, Ron, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Aunt Petunia and Dudley storm through the window-entrance of the hospital.

"Oh, my sweet boy!" she frets, almost killing me with the tightness of her hug. "How long has he been like this?"

"Half an hour," Oliver tells her, but before he can go into any more detail, Sarah comes along with a wheelchair for me to climb into.

"There's a birthing room available. If you can get in this I'll take you straight to it and we'll get this baby out of you as soon as possible."

I hoist myself off the floor into the wheelchair and we clatter off down the corridor until we arrive at a blank room filled with nothing save for a bed and a chest of drawers.

My stomach twists itself and expect another rush of pain, but all I feel is a little bit of tightness.

"Hey, that didn't hurt," I say in surprise.

"Potions must be working, then," Sarah says. "But that's not to say that you shouldn't start pushing soon. The pain will only be gone for another half an hour and then it'll return. Lily, James, everyone else, I need to ask all of you to leave while Harry gives birth."

"I think I'm going to be sick," I grumble, and Oliver reacts instinctively to pick up the bin next to my bed and hand it to me. No sooner do I take the bin from him that I empty my stomach's contents, and the sickening sound of liquid on plastic fills the room. The others leave immediately. "OW!"

The pain returns for a reason neither myself nor Sarah can work out, but she's forbidden to give me another dose of potion for another two hours. I guess I'll just have to fight this pain head-on…

"Harry, you're going to have to start pushing," Sarah urges me as she and Oliver remove my shirt. "The pain's only going to get worse…"

Oliver grips my hand as Sarah puts the familiar screen above my baby bump – I remember Midwitch Jones telling me that they use screens to hide the horrible view when a baby is being born through the navel.

The muscles in my abdomen start to shift and the skin around my belly button starts to expand, making me roar and thrash. I expected pain, but nothing in the deepest depths of my mind could fathom the possibility of this much excruciating torment.

I know that I'll be fine, but that doesn't stop me from wailing at the height of my lungs when a pain similar to being cleaved in two surges riddles my nervous system.

"OLLIE, HELP ME!"

He soon regrets taking my hand in his; with a vice-like power, my hand tightens and Oliver lets out a howl of pain himself.

"Push, Harry, push!" he encourages through watering eyes. "Bring our child into the world!"

I hold my breath and push with every ounce of energy I have. My back clicks, my neck twists at an uncomfortable angle and the very centre of my stomach stretches like a very tight rubber band.

"MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP!" I scream, relinquishing Oliver's hand and scrabbling urgently at the bed sheets.

"I can see the head!" Sarah exclaims. "Just a couple more pushes!"

"I know what might help," Oliver says lowly, and his mouth smothers mine, letting his tongue lash in every direction. "Do it for the baby, Harry, please… _push_…"

I've got so little energy left that I worry whether or not I'll give birth before I lose consciousness. With what vestiges of stamina my muscles and bones hold, I strain myself so hard that my ears pop and my nose starts bleeding. Oliver quickly wipes the blood away with a tissue.

In an exhausting moment of frenzied squeals of pain and the beautiful chorus of a baby being born, my lips are parted and a smooth liquid trickles into my mouth. It tastes like mint, and when I swallow it, I find myself having more energy than ever before, although I'm covered in sweat and my cheeks are streaked with tears.

"Congratulations! It's a beautiful baby girl!"

"We've got a daughter, Harry… a _daughter_…" Oliver sniffs through a wall of tears, and he kisses me sweetly but with defining passion.

"My girl…" I mumble. "Where's my little girl?"

"She's right here," Sarah says quietly, and she hands me the tiny bundle of white blankets.

"She… She's beautiful…" I sob, gazing wetly down at my daughter's brown tufts and mystifying pink eyes. "Hello, princess, I'm your Mummy."

"Daddy wants a hold," Oliver smiles, but when he goes to take our daughter from me, I cast him a dark glance and hold her closer to my chest. "Or he can wait until Mummy's finished," he adds with a laugh.

This is so hard to believe…

It was one thing to see Oliver give birth, but to actually have a child myself is something that I never thought I'd do, even after James Sirius was born.

She looks so angelic, so impossibly fragile, I worry that making any movement, no matter how minor it may be, could break her. I place a very timid kiss to her forehead and let a few tears drip onto her cheeks.

"Ollie, her eyes are pink," I say confusedly. "How strange…"

"They were brown when I held her," says Sarah. "Her hair was black, too. My, my, you two, you've got a Metamorphmagus for a daughter!"

I grin up at Oliver, who kisses me, and then I finally loosen my grip on my daughter.

"She's perfect…" says Oliver croakily. "What should we call her?"

"Pink eyes… delicate like a flower… how about Rose?"


	30. Stereotypical Blondes

**Chapter Thirty – Stereotypical Blondes**

It seems that the potion I was given only works for thirty minutes; not too long after giving birth to my gorgeous daughter, my energy proves to have been completely depleted and I fall into a deep sleep.

The heart-wrenching sound of Rose crying wakes me a few hours later.

Ron, Hermione, Aunt Petunia, Dudley and Mr and Mrs Weasley can be seen through the window on the door, sitting in the waiting area, but my parents and James Sirius are beside my bed, with my mother holding my hand.

"Well done, sweetheart," she says quietly, "we're _so_ proud of you."

"Rose? Where are you, princess? Rose? Mum, Dad, where's my daughter?"

"It's alright, honey, I've got her here," Oliver says tenderly. "Let's go and see Mummy, eh, princess?"

When I take my precious daughter from Oliver, I burst into floods of joyous tears, and as I beam endlessly down at the unendingly angelic being in my arms I sympathise with Oliver's protective nature – no way in hell am I going to let Rose out of my sight once she's able to walk and talk.

"Daddy, can I see my little sister?"

"Of course you can, son." I pat the covers next to me and he hops up. "Say hello."

James smiles at the girl in my arms. He appears to be quite confident at first, but when he opens his mouth to say hello, he goes suddenly quiet and tries to hide himself in my chest.

"Go on, James," Oliver encourages. "She's just your little sister."

"H-Hello…" he says timidly. "Mummy, what's her name?"

"She's called Rose, angel."

Rose looks around the room without a care in the world, and her wandering hands find James Sirius'. She squeezes his fingers lightly.

"Mummy, did you see that?!" he gasps.

For the next few minutes, James simply sits next to me on the bed and seems completely fascinated by his brand new baby sister.

Aunt Petunia pokes her head through the doorway.

"Can Dudley and I come in?"

I nod politely and the bony figure of my once-hateful aunt walks into the room, followed closely by the great wall of muscle that is Dudley. Up until a few months ago, my aunt and cousin were thought to have been Muggles, but Uncle Vernon's brutish behaviour finally grew tiresome for Aunt Petunia and she effectively ejected the beefy man from his own home.

"Oh, Harry, she's _beautiful_!" she coos. "I bet you are a very proud father, Oliver."

"Husband, mother, father," he says nonchalantly, ticking them off with his fingers. "I can definitely say that I've never felt more proud in my entire life."

"It's strange, isn't it," says Mum, "how you fell pregnant before Harry, yet Harry has given birth before you?"

"Not really. I'm carrying twins whereas Harry was just carrying the one. If I'd only been carrying one baby, I'd have probably gone into labour at the same time as him. Love only works on one foetus at a time, so it takes twice as long for the babies to fully develop." He rubs his stomach broodily. "I'm not due to have these precious jewels until Christmas Day, and mine and Harry's first Bonding anniversary."

"Is it okay if I hold her?" Dudley says tentatively, and I hand him my daughter. "Wow… she really _is_ beautiful…"

"She's a Metamorphmagus," says Sarah. "Changes her appearance at will."

We sit for a while, some of us catching up with each other but mostly talking about the new arrival and positively fawning over her when her eyes change to a crimson tint. Her hair, however, remains the exact nutty-brown of her father.

After a while, I decide that my daughter doesn't deserve to be away from me for too long, so the rest of those gathered humour me – the overprotective mother – and hand me back my special princess.

"Mummy loves you so much, you gorgeous little thing," I croon, holding her close to my body and letting a few solitary tears drip onto her cheeks.

"Good news, Harry," Sarah says hours later, so much later in fact that the sky outside is only just starting to lighten again; dawn. "Your baby's tests have come back just fine and you yourself are completely healthy."

"Does that mean we can go?" says Oliver exhaustedly. There are deep bags beneath his eyes from the long period of time he's been awake; he refused to go to sleep last night because he wanted me to make sure I was fully-rested.

Rose is a rather quiet baby, only crying when she's hungry, but that didn't stop Oliver from being near the crib at all times during the night. He thought I was asleep, but the reality was that I just couldn't drift off without having my baby near me. So instead I kept my eyes closed and opened them at odd increments to check how Oliver was doing. My heart goes out to him for putting up with such a long night – as soon as we get home, he's going straight up to bed and I won't accept any arguments.

"Yes, you're free to go!" Sarah says happily.

I command Oliver to go to bed as soon as we get back to our living quarters, and the fierce look I give him when he argues back is enough to make him submit. Grunting in defeat, he drags himself off to the bedroom while I spend the day with my daughter and son.

"Mummy loves you so much, you sweet little princess," I murmur, placing a few gentle kisses to her forehead and cradling her in my arms.

I'm overcome by a sudden wave of emotion more intense than anything else I've ever felt before, and I find myself sobbing uncontrollably as I lay down on the sofa next to a peaceful Rose. They aren't tears of sadness, but ones of the utmost joy. My cries go on for so long that the only time I stop is when James Sirius approaches me, looking somewhat cautious.

"Daddy, I'm hungry…" he says lowly.

"Okay. What would you like to eat, son?" I ask, placing Rose in the crib and heading into the kitchen. "Shall I make you some macaroni and cheese?"

"Cheese! Cheese!" he says loudly, but I quickly place my finger to my lips and point towards the baby.

"Hush, little James, you don't want to wake your baby sister up, now, do you?"

"No… Sorry, Daddy…"

"It's alright."

I hug him to show his apology has been accepted and then I start preparing his meal.

My family's expanding rapidly and I couldn't be happier. I've got a fantastic, loving husband and two children to match – who could possibly ask for anything better than that?

With six days before the Halloween dance, I resolve that I'm not going to go; my son and newborn daughter come first, so I'll be looking after them for the day. No partying for me, but it's not as though I care.

Holding my precious baby girl at any available opportunity is what I grow to live for not even a day after she's born, and I finally understand how Oliver felt when he doubted his mothering skills; every time I hear the heart-wrenching cries of my hungry daughter, something inside me stirs and tears flood to my eyes. So I pick her up as soon as I can, put a bottle in her mouth and cuddle with her after her feed to make her feel less lonely.

"Awww, mother and daughter lying together," Oliver says with a warm smile. "How cute."

Being the adorable sugar cube he is, Oliver demands that I keep my feet up for the first few days, to which I don't refuse. He waits on me hand-and-foot – no less than I expected – and there are times when he takes James Sirius out to the shops to give me some much-needed rest.

After one particular outing, I notice that he returns with a bag full of pink doodads and knickknacks, and most recognisably, balloons. He thinks I don't know what he's up to…

A couple of days before Halloween, while Rose and James Sirius are taking a nap, I approach him in the kitchen and tell him that I know about the late baby shower he's throwing me.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says shiftily, turning to face me with a mug of tea in his hand.

"Don't lie," I say with a cheeky smirk. "I _know_ that you're giving me a baby shower, Oliver. Go on, spill, where are you holding it? Here?"

"The castle…" Oliver mumbles.

"Oliver, I told you I wasn't going outside with the kids! Rose has only just been born, for Merlin's sake!" I say exasperatedly. "You're unbelievable…"

"I'm sorry," he says sadly. "I just thought-"

"You just thought that you'd go against my wishes? Wow, thanks a lot. Shows just how much you care about what I want."

As I turn to storm into the living room, Oliver grabs my arm and I glare at him.

"Sweetheart… _please_…" he sniffs, pulling me into a hug I can't escape from. It's impossible for me to remain angry for very long, especially when it's Oliver I'm supposed to be angry at. "I wanted to do something special for you and Rose. Don't be angry, I'm begging you. I love you so much, _of course_ I care about what you want. Please don't leave me…"

"L-Leave you?" I stammer, my eyes softening slightly and tears dripping down my cheeks. "Oh, honey, I'd never, _ever_ leave you! You're the love of my life, I wouldn't be so stupid as to let you go like that! What ever made you think I'd leave?"

"You seemed really pissed off…"

"I'm less angry than I'm showing," I assure him, stroking his back soothingly and holding him closer than ever before. "Oh, Ollie… My wonderful, amazing Ollie… Come here."

In our tight embrace, we kiss gently and our tears mix together.

"I really am sorry," Oliver says between sobs.

"Don't be. You tried to do something nice, and I'm really grateful for it, I truly am. Just, you went the wrong way about it, is all. It was just a mistake. You know what, we _should_ have the baby shower in the castle. Alright, I'll go. For you, because you make me so happy. You make me bloody mad sometimes, but you're one of my biggest inspirations for happiness, and I love you more than anything, second only to our kids. My sweet Ollie, I'll stay with you forever. Promise."

As with any couple, make-up sex after an argument or disagreement is oftentimes very exhilarating, so half an hour later when Oliver and I are in the bedroom, me on my hands and knees, the pleasure I gain from feeling him slide into me from behind is ten times that which I would get from normal lovemaking.

"I fucking love you…" I growl, shoving my hips backwards and jolting his dick into my prostate for the tenth time.

He thrusts very delicately but with undeniable meaning, and he even takes the time to give me a reach-around when I take the weight off my hands to feel his stomach against my back.

"Ollie… so _good_…"

His strokes on my cock are painfully slow, matching the pace he's set whilst making love to me, but it's still enough to make me crumble.

I curl one of my arms around his neck, hold his head just behind mine and I turn to give him a passionate kiss – all while my prostate is being constantly abused by an endless string of delicious prods and jabs.

"I love you, too, sweetheart," Oliver grunts, and he speeds up a little bit. "I'm so sor-"

"Hush, baby… It's in the past now. Just focus on making love, alright?"

"Alright. I want to look you in the eye, Snitchy…"

Knowing what he wants, I pull myself off of his throbbing member and lay down on the bed with my legs spread apart, my arse pointing towards him.

A single, silvery moonbeam shines in through the window and illuminates one half of Oliver's beautiful face, and his eyes twinkle brightly.

With an encouraging smile, I tell him to re-enter me. He obliges, gasps as my heated core lures him inside, and then lays flat across my torso. I wrap my legs around his waist as his thrusts restart, hissing with each irresistible stab of my prostate.

"You're so beautiful…" I whisper, gazing at him for an extensive amount of time. "My perfect Ollie… I love you so much…"

Tears flow down my cheeks and Oliver kisses me tenderly after reciprocating my affection.

The effort involved in keeping my legs in the air decreases rapidly when he winds his arms around them and presses his palms flat onto the mattress, using the extra leverage to drive himself into me just that little bit more.

When he starts gasping into my neck and his chest starts to heave on top of me, I follow suit and my moans and groans become more like screams. My cock fires a creamy rocket up our bodies and my nervous system goes into convulsions beneath Oliver, whose release I feel slick the silken walls of my arse.

We lay together, just as we always have and just as we always will, panting and wheezing as we recover from our orgasm and murmuring sweet nothings into the other's ear.

Our moment of intimacy, however, is cut short by the sound of Rose crying for a feed. So I pull myself out of bed, tell Oliver not to wait up for me, and take the baby downstairs.

The day of the baby shower arrives, and it's only now that I realise it's going to clash with the Halloween Dance. The only possible way I can think of for them both to go ahead in the castle is if the Dance takes place in the Great Hall whilst the shower takes place in a room upstairs. I still don't understand why we couldn't just hold it here…

"I wanted it to take place in the castle so we could invite everyone we know," Oliver tells me an hour before we're due to go to the castle. I can already see that Mum, Dad, Ron and Hermione, as well as almost everybody else we know, have arrived; the windows in the Great Hall show me that they're standing beside a large, pink cake, but the stained-glass patterns of the four founders stop me from seeing much else. "There's more room up in the castle. Dumbledore said that we can have the shower in the Great Hall."

"What about the Dance?"

"The Dance doesn't start until eight. It's only five o'clock, sweetheart. The baby shower starts at six and shouldn't last much longer than an hour and a half," he adds with a sweet smile.

An hour later, after making sure that James Sirius and Rose have been fed and changed into clean clothes, we head down to the castle, the Great Hall in particular.

"Where is she?!" Mrs Weasley squeals immediately no sooner then we've stepped into the Hall. She shuffles over to the pram I'm pushing and promptly takes Rose into her arms, cooing nonstop. "Isn't she _beautiful_?"

"She is," Oliver says proudly. "What colour eyes has she got today, Harry?"

"Purple, the last time I checked."

"She's a Metamorphmagus?" Mrs Weasley says with a curious frown. "Interesting. Hello, Rose, I'm your Great Aunt Molly. You don't mind if she calls me that, do you, Harry?"

"Not at all. You're like family to Oliver and I, so I can't see why you shouldn't be like family to our children."

She beams at me and asks if she can take the baby over to meet the rest of the Weasleys, which I agree to on the condition that she be brought straight back to me if she starts crying.

For the first hour, I find myself catching up with the people I long thought had lost interest in me and my family. Bridgett, Sarah, Dominic, Cobra (who reveals his real name to be Alex), Otter and Lynx (named Molly and Jennifer Hewitt), and Garnet (who we know to be called Gwen Richards) all approach me at the same time. Before they can start talking all at once, though, I raise my arms and wordlessly demand silence. When I point at Gwen, she bursts into enthusiastic chatter about all the things she's been doing for the last eight months.

I notice that, among her few subtle freckles, there's a scar that wasn't there before.

"You remember me saying how I was going to go around the world and clean up the rest of Blue Swan's bases of operation? Well, I was tackling the last one – it was somewhere on a mountain in Russia – and the leader of the base – big, beefy man he was – nearly cut my eye out with a blunt knife." Oliver recoils in horror, but Gwen carries on. "That was two weeks ago. Blue Swan and Shadow Dragon are well-and-truly gone now. Not a single agent remains; I saw to that myself."

"You took down _every single base_ all by yourself?" Ron says in an impressed voice. "Come with me, let's talk some more."

He drags her away before she can keep on talking, but Molly and Jennifer are the next to update Oliver and I. They haven't changed one bit: every time they talk, they never do it separately, which can be quite unnerving if, like some other times, they feel like creeping you out by talking in monotone. Today just happens to be one of those days…

"Hi, Harry, how are things going?" they intone, and it sends shivers down my spine. "We've been helping Gwen with her mission around the world. We were so excited to hear that you'd had a little girl, Harry."

"Do you have to talk like that?" I say anxiously. "It really creeps me out…"

"Sorry," they reply, still speaking in unison but losing the horror film voice. "Anyway, what's going on with you and Oliver right now?"

"Nothing much, actually," I say. "Oliver's having twins and I'm currently on maternity leave, but when I'm not looking after the kids I'm a Transfiguration teacher here. Head of Gryffindor House, too. Oliver is the Child Monitor."

After enduring the rather mind-numbing conversation in which Molly and Jennifer drone on about the many hair care products that they plan on marketing to both the wizarding and Muggle worlds, Oliver and I find Bridgett and are elated to hear that she, too, is carrying a child.

"Five weeks pregnant," she says happily. "Some douche slept with me and then left before I could wake up the next morning. Doesn't matter, though. I'm just glad I've got a baby on the way!"

Once we've all caught up with each other and exchanged contact information, I take Oliver's hand and we take a seat in a small cluster of elegant-looking sofas that Dumbledore conjures specially for the occasion. I place Rose on my knee and James Sirius hops up onto Oliver's.

"I wonder what you've all got this special little girl. What's Mummy got here, princess? Shall we take a look inside?"

Rose gurgles and giggles as I nibble playfully on her cheek, and then I start tearing into the first present. It's nothing more extravagant than I would have expected – a simple yet pretty pink baby grow – and I thank Mr and Mrs Weasley. Over the coming ten minutes, I'm inundated by the sheer volume of clothes, toys and equipment. Perhaps the most obscure items I unwrap are a bottle of baby hair dye and a box of makeup, which I receive from Molly and Jennifer.

"Not that I'm ungrateful or anything," I say tentatively, "but I'm not using this hair dye or makeup on my little princess…"

"Why not?"

"Because, well… you shouldn't dye a baby's hair and their looks don't matter, to be bluntly honest."

"We just thought that it'd make her pretty-"

Hermione slaps them both hard on the face and even Oliver follows suit. I'd join in the fun, too, but my precious little girl is comfortable on my lap, wearing an adorable, frilly pink dress.

"What was that for?!" Molly and Jennifer whine, rubbing their sore cheeks in synch.

"How _dare_ you call our daughter ugly?!" Oliver spits. "Get out! Go on, get out!"

"Fine!" Molly says, the first time I've ever heard her speak on her own. "Come on, Jennifer, we're leaving. You'd think people don't like being told that their kids are ugly…"

They storm across the Great Hall, followed by a set of deadly glares, and try to slam the huge double doors. Blonde stereotypes certainly mean something here; Jennifer – or Molly, I can't tell – ends up stumbling when her desperate yanks yield no results. Flustered, she leaves in a huff.

"You're not ugly, princess; you're beautiful."

I have no idea how I could have ever considered them as friends, and what baffles me even more is the fact that they're a descendant of the original Eternals that sealed off the Eternal Complex.

"Now," I sigh, having finished unwrapping the presents, which lay beside me on the sofa, "who wants to see the baby?"


	31. Twin Snakes

**Chapter Thirty One – Twin Snakes**

Molly and Jennifer strode across the Entrance Hall towards the great double doors leading out into the crisp, early-autumn air, but Molly held Jennifer back after having a brief moment of inspiration.

"We aren't going to let him just humiliate us like that, are we, sis?"

"I'd rather we just left, Molly. Really, you're thinking about causing trouble at a _baby shower_? And I thought I was the bitchy one…"

"Fine, be a wussy. I'll jinx a few brooms to hit the stuck-up bastards by myself. How can you honestly defend them when we've just been slapped?"

With that, Molly headed for the staircase. Jennifer followed, albeit reluctantly.

They crept up the stone steps, towards the Grand Staircase, and then quickly made their way up to the broom cupboard on the third floor.

There was a rather strange chill to the air that appeared as though from nowhere, and the skin on both Molly and Jennifer's arms rose in bumps. Their hair standing on end, they exchanged furtive glances. Then they sighed in relief; the Bloody Baron became visible as he drifted aimlessly down the corridor, those bright silver bloodstains shimmering in the moonlight. He turned to face them, and for the first time in his history at Hogwarts, he spoke.

"You would do well to leave," he said sinisterly, his gaunt eyes staring yet unseeing. "Strange things are afoot, monstrous things…"

"Whatever," said Molly snootily, and she tore open the door to the broom cupboard, quite literally; the hinges snapped and one of them bulleted through the air, passing straight through the Bloody Baron's torso, whilst the door itself clattered to the floor. "Nothing a quick Reparo can't fix…"

"Be it on your own lives…"

The ghost dissolved into a wisp of faint smoke, and blew out of an open, rain-lashed window nearby. Molly and Jennifer were left with a distinct sense of self-awareness and extreme unease.

"What do you think he was talking about?" said Jennifer tentatively.

"Probably a load of bullshit. Ghosts in this school never can come up with a decent horror story for Halloween. Honestly…"

Molly pulled out three brooms and tapped one of them with her wand. It shuddered for a moment, glowed golden, then returned to its previously boring state, whilst Jennifer looked on with anxiety.

"Oh, will you stop being such a coward?! I'm not doing this all by myself. _You_ do something for once! Go on!"

"What are you two doing?" said a voice neither of them recognised.

"Who are you?" said Molly.

Out from the shadow of a statue of armour came Amy Geller, sporting a somewhat sneaky yet benign smile. Her hair was now an unspoilt, electric blue.

"Name's Amy, Amy Geller. And you two are…?"

"I'm Molly Hewitt and this is my twin sister, Jennifer. We're Eternals," she added importantly.

"Lovely," said Amy in a mock tone of interest. "You wouldn't happen to know Harry and Oliver Potter-Wood, would you?"

"Yeah, they're both stuck-up bastards who think they can lord it over us. Why?"

"Can you tell me where they are?"

Amy took a step forward, and it was at this time that Jennifer noticed something quite odd about the glint in her eyes.

"Molly, maybe we should-"

"Should what? Go? Fat chance. I'm not finished giving those two their comeuppance. They're in the Great Hall, Amy. Baby shower."

Amy stood for a while, looking at them and not blinking at all. She took another step forward, and it seemed that even Molly was beginning to get worried.

"I'm sorry, you two…"

"What for?"

"I can't chance you going to the police after tonight, it'd ruin my plans."

There was a high-pitched scrape as a short blade was drawn from its holster on the leg of Amy's cargo pants, and she wielded it menacingly in front of the horrified twins, her face contorted with torturous intent.

Molly and Jennifer held their backs against the wall and quivered as Amy took her own sweet time to trace the fine metal tip over each of their jugulars.

"What are you going to do to us?" said Jennifer fearfully.

"That which my idiotic little brother failed to do on his own. First, I'm going to strip you of your lives – maybe more if I'm feeling particularly… _adventurous_. After that, the Potter-Woods will lose their loved ones bit by bit. Then, once they're begging for me to end their lives, I'll take pleasure in slitting their throats from ear," she brought the blade up to her ear and demonstrated her ultimate objective, ending just below the opposite lobe, "to ear."

"We might hate the Potter-Woods," said Jennifer, with confidence she didn't even know she had, "but we'd never murder them, nor will we ever let them be murdered."

Amy let out a cruel, sharp laugh.

"You think _you two_ can stop us? Two brainless fuckwits like you don't even know how to screw in a light bulb, let alone prevent me from committing murder!"

"Hey! What are you three doing down here before the Halloween Dance- WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH A KNIFE?!" It was a Prefect, patrolling the corridors and just minding his own business. Unfortunately, he had set foot on the wrong corridor at the wrong time, and in the momentary confusion, he failed to notice the blur of almost-white hair behind him. One split second was all it took; with a sickening crunch, his neck was twisted one hundred and eighty degrees and he flopped to the floor like a fish. The face of the attacker remained to be seen.

"See how easy it is to end lives?" drawled the figure, who, despite advancing on Amy and the twins, always kept his features hidden. "I daresay that you'll hardly be any more of a challenge than snapping a toothpick."

"You think we're going down without a fight? Try and catch us first!"

Molly ducked just in time to avoid a hard punch sent by Amy. She wheeled around the bend onto the next corridor and zipped out of sight.

"Molly, where are you-?!"

With a swipe of silver and the tearing of flesh, half of the third floor corridor was flooded by a crimson river, and Jennifer Hewitt slumped against the wall, her stomach gaping and her entrails poking through her blouse.

"Don't just stand there!" Amy snarled at the figure, who immediately gave chase. Before she followed, however, she took from inside her jacket a flask filled with a foul-smelling goo. She bent over the bloody corpse in front of her, pulled out a few strands of hair, and added them to the green mixture. "Thanks a bunch, Blondie. We're going to be needing these hairs of yours…" she moved swiftly from the corridor, through a narrow beam of moonlight, and headed after Molly with a vicious sneer spread across her face.

Running for her life and turning at every opportunity possible, Molly couldn't work out whether she was getting closer to the Grand Staircase or further into the bowels of the castle. She veered left and blasted past the portrait of Sir Cadogan, who awoke with a start when she deliberately knocked over a statue of armour. She fired a few meek, wandless spells behind her without looking and then turned again onto a corridor that she failed to see was a dead-end, save for a single door leading to an unknown classroom. A tapestry depicting Imelda the Illustrious was hung on the right wall.

"It's no use trying to escape, bitch!" said the figure, who drew three short daggers and hurled them in her direction. Two of them hit the walls with a clang, but the other drove itself into Molly's back. She squealed in agony, stumbled, and then fell forward in an imitation of sudden death.

Holding her breath for as long as possible, she relied on pure willpower to remain completely rigid. She felt a shadow loom over her and squeezed her eyes shut tight, waiting for it to speak.

The pain in her back was excruciating, like a red-hot poker had been jabbed through her, and she fought valiantly to stop herself from spilling tears onto the floor. The most she could do without giving herself away was allow a small trickle of blood to flow from her mouth.

A few deep, shuddering breaths just above her ear made her heart skip a beat, but then the shadow spoke in a voice that was more of a rasp than a whisper.

"Dead."

"We'd better go before the students find them," said Amy quietly. "There's only twenty minutes before the Dance starts."

Once Molly was confident that Amy and the other killer were no longer on the corridor, their footsteps having died away, she stumbled to her feet, removed the dagger (not without a subdued scream), clutched her searing spine and started heading back. Then there was a sudden gust of air, and the bottom of the tapestry fluttered to reveal a concrete path. Intrigued and hoping it would lead to safety, she kept herself low and avoided making any loud noises that could set the alarm bells ringing for her assailants.

She pulled back the fabric and sneaked into the secret passageway. Her breath misted out in front of her and she was very aware of a bitter chill attacking her skin. She drew her camisole tighter across her body and trekked further into the impossibly-dark expanse in front of her, only making a few minor turns. She noticed that the walls to either side of her narrowed as she progressed, and after about a minute of blind walking, her arms being scratched by the jagged stone, the path ahead grew brighter and she no longer felt claustrophobic.

Groaning echoed through the ceiling – the Grand Staircase. Molly half-limped, half-ran towards the porthole of light ahead, her heart rate increasing rapidly. She went faster, smiling to herself at her survival yet weeping with undying grief for her lost sister.

Someone in navy robes started running towards her and proffered a helpful hand. Molly reached out-

And was bisected in a swift movement, the sheen of a sword following the dramatic spray of blood. Her eyes bulged, her mouth gushed and her lower body toppled over. Through her horror and anguish, she managed a final glance up at the killer, and uttered, "Y-You…" before being allowed to slump to the floor in a tangled mess of veins, arteries and internal organs.

"Shame, really," said Amy disappointedly. "They were both such pretty girls." A clattering came from upstairs – the Halloween Dance was about to be underway. "Quick, take a sip of this." Amy took a mouthful of the Polyjuice Potion and thrust it towards her partner, who drank it, too. "It'll last us an hour but that should be all that we need. The plan's simple: we infiltrate the Halloween Dance, eliminate the Potter-Woods' loved ones, and then _I'll_ strike the final blow. Got it?"

"It should be _me_ killing them. _I_ was the one that got sent to prison because of them."

"But it was _my_ idea to kill them since the day you were imprisoned," hissed Amy. The footsteps from above grew louder. "We're wasting time! Just shut up and follow my lead, Draco, you'll get your revenge."

"I love you," said Harry, as he and Oliver danced in a slow circle. Spotlights as big as beach balls shone down upon the dance floor, supported by magic, and a whirlwind of colour dazzled them. "I'm going to repay you for tonight, you know? It was a wonderful baby shower…"

"You're very welcome, sweetheart. I love you, too, but you don't have to hold a baby shower for the twins and I-"

"You did it for me when I didn't want one, so I'm going to do the same for you. Okay?"

"Alright," Oliver sighed in defeat, "but you'll need to convince me in bed tonight before you do anything…"

"I think I can arrange something," winked Harry. Then he glanced over at Lily and James, who were looking after James Sirius and Rose. James Sirius was sat on his grandfather's shoulders while Lily was pushing Rose back-and-forth in her pram. "Look at our babies, I love them so much. Would you believe how much they look just like you?"

"Hey, they look like you, too-"

"Sorry I'm late!" rang a voice Harry instantly recognised. Curly brown hair bobbing behind her as she moved, her scarlet dress flapping around her ankles, Katie Ellen nearly tripped over her high-heels as she trotted through the Great Hall towards Harry and Oliver. She stopped in front of them, panting, "Public transport is absolute murder!"

"Couldn't you have just Apparated?" said Oliver amusedly.

"Not when my magic is being followed." Katie dropped her voice significantly, so much so that Harry and Oliver had to lean in before they could hear her properly. "I got a letter a few weeks ago saying that someone was keeping a tab on my magic, just like I did when I was a waitress. Bit worried at first but nothing ever came of the warning. That was, until last week. Got another letter telling me that there's no point in using Levitation charms on vases and other objects when I'm vacuuming. Haven't used magic since."

"Didn't you go to the police or the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?" said Harry. Katie shook her head.

"Got threatened with murder if I did," she said flatly. "Knew it was a load of crap, but didn't want to chance it anyway." Her voice changed back to its normal level. "Anyway, how's life been treating you two?"

Harry and Oliver spent the next twenty minutes telling Katie of Harry's newfound motherhood, Oliver's pregnancy with twins, and the revelation of who the killer actually was.

"Wait, so it was this Monica woman's daughter and son that were killing people?"

"Yep. Oliver and I have been on high alert ever since we found out who it actually was. We only leave the kids with people we trust. Speaking of which, Ron is back in our good graces. It turns out that he was Imperiused – didn't have a clue what he was doing when he attacked Hermione. We have a pretty good idea of who Imperiused him, too."

"Hey, where are Molly and Jennifer Hewitt? You know, Lynx and Otter?"

"Oh, they left ages ago. Thought they'd be able to call my baby girl ugly and get away with it. Hermione and Oliver both slapped them and then they left in a huff. Not really bothered, if I'm being honest; they're just dumb blondes anyway."

"Can I see the baby?"

"Yeah, of course. Mum, let Katie hold Rose for a few minutes."

Harry and Oliver returned to dancing while Katie held the baby.

Almost an hour later, the double doors to the Great Hall were flung open and 'Molly and Jennifer Hewitt' paced inside. Yet Harry sensed something distinctly off about Jennifer's demeanour; she spoke not in her usual, high-pitched whine, but sounded gruff, almost manly.

"Harry Potter…"

Every head in the hall had turned to face them, now an hour late, but they remained completely oblivious.

There was a part of Harry that saw what was coming; he swung his arm up, a disturbance in the air descended over himself and his family like a curtain, and the bolt of blue light sent by 'Jennifer' careened into the enchanted ceiling above. Plaster and stone rained down upon those gathered in the hall, who ran for cover in the Entrance Hall.

A few bumps rose on the fake twins' skin, wobbled around, and then they started to form into completely different shapes, as though being melted like hot wax, until Harry and Oliver were faced by the two people they loathed the most. In particular, the hollow eyes and sunken-in cheeks of Draco Malfoy made bile rise in his throat. The dirt-matted rug of whitish hair on Malfoy's head gave Harry great pleasure in the knowledge of the torture he must have endured at the hands of the Dementors.

"It's Potter-Wood," said Harry calmly. "I suppose you're here to kill us, Malfoy? And you, Amy?"


	32. Anti-Venom

**Chapter Thirty Two – Anti-Venom**

"What ever gave you that idea?" said Amy, who twirled her hunting knife mindlessly in her fingers, not meeting the furious glares of Harry and Oliver.

"Why?" said Harry. "Why kill all those innocent people? Why hurt the people who didn't even know you?"

"To get at you. Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood… the whole thing was devised by myself. Charlie just so happened to give me a helping hand with some of the murders. But then you two caught him out and he jumped to his death. Bloody idiot…"

"We did nothing to you," said Oliver. "We befriended you, we _helped_ you!"

"Mummy, what's happening?"

"Don't worry, angel, everything is going to be fine. You stay close to Grandma and Granddad, alright? Lily, James, don't let either of those two out of your sight. Take them away from here, I don't want them to see us fight…"

Lily and James nodded. But just as they were about to Disapparate, Malfoy sent a plume of flame streaking in their direction. Harry met it with a torrent of water, but that didn't stop him from staring in horror at Malfoy, nor did it make him deaf to the sizzling in the air. He and Malfoy glared each other down, as did Amy and Oliver. Making use of the momentary distraction, Lily and James Disapparated with a crack that sounded more like a gunshot, taking the children with them.

There was something odd about the way that Malfoy and Amy acted around each other, something that seemed quite familiar to Harry. When he put the idea together with Malfoy's apparent elemental control, he came to a quick but entirely possible conclusion.

"You've invoked Vinculum Duo," he said flatly.

"Oh, well done," said Amy sarcastically. "Did you work that out when Draco almost fried your family? Yes, we've invoked Vinculum Duo."

"But how?" said Oliver. "Vinculum Duo can only be used by those who bear the mark of love."

"And so I do," said Malfoy smugly. His face warped into a leer. "See, my mother was very expendable – told me that I deserved to be in Azkaban for what I did – and my initial thought was to just get rid of her. But then I realised how – ah – _prudent_ it would be if I had powers to rival yours…"

"That's where I came into the frame," said Amy. "I was already Malfoy's girlfriend before he was sent to prison, so I needed little convincing to enact the next part. I tricked Narcissa into thinking that I was going to kill Draco, so when I threw a Killing Curse at him, she did exactly what we'd predicted and sacrificed herself. Draco was imbued with the Power of Love, he and I kissed and had sex, and Vinculum Duo became ours to use as we please."

"And what would you have done if Narcissa _hadn't_ jumped in front of Malfoy? He would have died."

"I had a magic-proof chest plate behind my robes in case such an event happened. Besides, if my mother wouldn't have saved me, my father certainly would have."

Dumbledore stood from his chair at the high table and pointed his wand at Amy and Malfoy. "I suggest you leave before I take matters into my own-"

A concertina-like shape zoomed through the air with a sound like a buzz-saw, smacked the old man in the chest, and sent him crashing through the wall. The stone masonry apparently could not handle the sudden weight, because it surrendered in a simultaneous groan, and the cavernous hole the blast created was filled with dust and fragments of rock. A bitter draught blew in and an encroaching storm spilt rainwater into the Great Hall.

"Albus!" yelped Rebekah. She ran towards the debris to help the headmaster, but he was nowhere to be seen. "Harry, he's gone!"

"Dead, to be precise," said Amy, with a snide grin. "A little modified version I made of the Banishing charm. Tears the victim apart and makes the body disappear. One of the easiest kills I've ever made…"

Harry's dark stare remained unaltered, an angry vein throbbed in his head, and his mind whirred with the possibilities of how he could attack the monsters in front of him. It seemed that Oliver was going through the same thought process himself; his fingers twitched and a liquid-like ripple danced across his palm.

"You won't get away with this," said Oliver bitterly. He thrust his hand forward and propelled a heavy jet of water towards Amy. With a flick of Amy's wrist and a whoosh, one of the house tables rose into the air to shield her, but it wasn't enough; whilst Oliver's attack was slowed considerably, it was still too powerful for the wood to withstand. The table cracked, splintered, fell away, and Amy torpedoed into the wall twenty on the other side of the Great Hall. She slumped to the floor with a grunt. "See? Still not strong enough-"

A maelstrom of pebbles attacked Oliver's face and he yowled in pain. When he took his bloody hand away, his right cheek was littered with cuts, and there were a few remnants of Malfoy's attack still burrowed in his face.

"Strong enough to do some serious damage," spat Malfoy.

"All of you," said Harry quickly, snapping his head round to face Rebekah and the others. "Get out-"

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

An emerald globe of light shone up the walls of the Great Hall. Harry and Oliver dived out of the way, as did Ron, Hermione and Katie – who hit their heads off the wall and were knocked out - before the curse could strike, but the others weren't so lucky. With a collective thud, the bodies of Rebekah, Bridgett and everyone else hit the floor, their eyes still wide with shock and sprinkled with the reflection of stars in the enchanted ceiling that they could no longer see.

"NO!" Harry bellowed. "I've had it! Enough is enough! Oliver, get yourself ready! We're tearing these fuckers apart!"

Fire so hot it could melt metal burned inside Harry as he thundered towards Malfoy, who smirked victoriously. Scrunched-up fist flaring with flame, Harry swung it in a wide curve, and watched with untenable rage as Malfoy merely floated out of the way.

"Come on, Potter, you'll have to do better than that," Malfoy taunted.

"IT'S POTTER-WOOD-!"

Malfoy kicked out harshly and Harry's nose cracked under the pressure. He fell back, slumped to the floor and clutched at his bloodied face as Oliver engaged Amy in a fight of their own.

"I don't give a _shit_ what your surname is," hissed Malfoy. "You were always a faggot and I don't really care for- Ouch!"

"What have I told you about using that fucking word?!" Amy barked as she simultaneously slapped Malfoy and hurled a plank of wood wandlessly at Oliver, who set it ablaze and turned it to ashes before it could do serious damage. "Sometimes, I think you forget that I'm bisexual…"

"Might want to stop distracting yourself," said Oliver, and he bulleted from the floor, headbutted Amy in the stomach and launched her out of the high windows. He turned to face Harry with a confident smile, mouthed their three-worded anthem, and leapt into the freezing rain.

Harry got to his feet, fists tight in front of him and his legs slightly spaced.

"What are you, a martial artist?" scoffed Malfoy.

"No, but you learn a thing or two from watching others who _are_!"

Springing five feet into the air and bringing his heels up to meet his thighs, Harry's knees collided with Malfoy's cheek. When he landed, his feet hit the concrete with a reverberating slap. He took advantage of Malfoy's temporary daze and jabbed him twice in the face, followed by a very hard haymaker and finishing the assault by kneeing him in the gut such that a mix of blood and vomit spouted from the bony man's mouth. Harry, plastered with bile, gripped the collar of Malfoy's robes and pulled with all his might. He bent backwards into a perfect arch and slammed his nemesis into the floor, which shuddered violently.

Malfoy screamed for a moment, thrashed, then fell into a rigid stupor, his mouth lolling open.

"Pathetic," said Harry, and he ran out of the castle to help Oliver.

By now, the students and staff had fled to the upper floors of the castle – something which Harry wished they hadn't done. They were no safer higher in the castle than they would be if they had remained in the Great Hall, so Harry sent a Patronus up the Grand Staircase to Professor Trelawney. She needed to evacuate the students, and fast.

There was a scream of sustained agony from outside and Harry's senses were alerted to the fullest capacity. Heart pounding, he dashed flat-footed into the cold, autumn night and had a feeling of dread in his gut. Dread so strong that his very soul crumbled. Standing over the still form of Oliver was Amy, grinning evilly at Harry over her shoulder.

"Aw, what's the matter, Potter? Is your husband _dead_?"

"You don't think you're killing me _that_ easily, do you?!" said Oliver, who grabbed Amy's ankle and pulled her to the floor. He hurried on top of her, pinned her arms to her sides by using his legs, and then whacked her repeatedly with alternating punches. Every syllable that came from his mouth was spat with an intense anger so strong that the hairs on Harry's neck stood on end. "We've – faced – far – worse – enemies – than – you – and – _won_!"

"_Immobulus!_" cried Amy, who spluttered blood onto the grass. Oliver was lifted into the air, limbs frozen, and hovered there. "Now for the finishing-"

"Pyrophoon!" yelled Harry. He linked the webbing between his thumbs and forefingers, much like a chain, and shoved them outwards. From the sky descended a funnel of searing flame that scorched the ground it touched. "Run or die, Amy!"

Amy raised an inquisitive eyebrow and threw a ball of water at the flickering cyclone. When she realised that it had no effect, her confidence faltered and she pelted out of its destructive path.

Professor Trelawney and the remaining students hurried out of the castle just in time; the whole of the Astronomy Tower was engulfed in the blazing storm, and with it, all of Harry and Oliver's possessions. Cinders and soot promptly conquered the air, and Harry and Oliver were starting to find it quite difficult to inhale sufficient oxygen; their minds started to fog and their hearts thundered against their chests as their lungs struggled to cope.

Diving to the left and avoiding being sliced by some sort of ice blade, Harry trailed fire along the already-singed grass, coughed and spluttered when be breathed in a lot of hot ash, but then he rolled to his feet and pounced at Amy with a flaring fist. She screamed when he made impact with her stomach, her lower ribs cracking, and she cannonballed into the wall of the castle before slumping to the ground, apparently unconscious.

Harry cast a quick Bubble-Head charm on himself and breathed pure air last. Then he ran over to Oliver, who remained frozen in mid-air, and did the same after he'd brought him back to the ground.

"Harry…" said Oliver sadly, staring longingly at the towering inferno. "Our home… everything's gone…"

"We'll worry about that later, honey," said Harry quickly, and his head twisted in the direction of the double front doors. Malfoy had recovered and was prowling behind Professor Trelawney like a panther waiting to strike. "We've got bigger problems right now. Malfoy!"

But it was too late; Malfoy snatched Professor Trelawney by her shawl and many jangling necklaces, withdrew a great, gleaming sword that blazed with an orange light, and decapitated her in one fell swoop. He wore a grimace of sadistic pleasure as her body flopped, and seemed to savour the taste of her blood as countless jets spouted from her neck onto his lips. Swishing the sword to one side, the castle wall was streaked by a crimson stroke, and the cunning snake changed his target to the students who had only just noticed their teacher's death. Every single one of their horrified faces shone in the rain like light bulbs as he approached then, their bodies frozen stiff.

A clap of thunder sounded overhead and Malfoy cut the air with sword once again. "_Inanimato!_" Harry and Oliver shouted together, pointing at the defenceless students. The students flashed a bright-orange for a split second, and just as the weapon struck, their bodies turned to stone, their eyes greyed and they stood rooted to the spot, as statues. There was a snap, and the fine tip of Malfoy's sword whizzed through the air and embedded itself into a smouldering tree-trunk.

Ron, Hermione and Katie, now slowly recovering, stumbled out of the Entrance Hall into the Baltic conditions, and they raised their wands, somewhat shakily. Hermione's eyebrow was cut badly, her cheek a vivid purple, yet Ron looked far worse for wear; a busted, bloody lip kicked out beneath a jagged nose, and his eye sockets had puffed to such an extent that his eyes were no more than mere slits.

A fork of lightning struck the steeple of the Astronomy Tower and the night was swallowed by a huge ball of fire that spat burning timber in all directions. Harry and Oliver ran before they could be crushed by a log, which disintegrated the second it hit the ground, and locked eyes on a very angry Malfoy. With nothing but the hilt of his sword left, he punched one of the statues, smirked with satisfaction as it fell and created a domino effect with the others, then pointed up to the sky with his palm wide.

Like a meteor, a blinding whiteness shot from the sky and burrowed into the sodden ground to create a huge explosion of grass and soil. Harry's first thought was that Malfoy had created a meteor storm, but when the sleight, filthy-haired form of Monica Geller emerged from the gaping crater, her body glittering, he was anxious about the fight's progression from here.

Monica gave him a stony-faced look, as though of hatred. Yet it cracked into a smile soon after and she turned with a scowl to face Amy, who held her head in her hands as she remained still against the castle wall.

"Alright, Harry, Oliver?" she said lightly. "Nice night for a fight, isn't it?"

"Monica," said Oliver, "we're sorry about getting you wrongly imprisoned-"

"Forget about that! I'm more bothered about taking down this bitch who claims to be my daughter!" she flicked her wand meagrely and a Killing Curse sent by Malfoy was deflected with a short, sharp ping. "I'll explain later!"

"I'm growing tired of these games!" roared Malfoy. He crouched like a predator, flashed a very malicious glance at Harry, Oliver and Monica, then rocketed into the sky before a newly-energised Ron, Hermione and Katie could attack him.

"That's my boyfriend, you bitch!" growled Amy, who seemed to have regained her strength. Moving so fast that all Harry and Oliver could see of her was an afterimage, she became no more than a blaze of blue as she single-handedly knocked Ron and Hermione over as though they were bowling pins.

Katie hopped to the side, pulled her shoes from her feet with the temperament of a troll, muttered, "I'm getting so sick of this," and then fired millions of tiny rock fragments from the end of her wand. Whilst Amy was being shelled, Katie dashed up to her, puddles splashing at her feet, and gave her an uppercut that snapped a few teeth clean in half, as well as catapulting her into the air.

Malfoy rose, rose like a bullet. To Harry's horror, a huge pillar erupted from the earth and tore through the centre of the castle. Malfoy perched himself on the very edge of the steadily-disintegrating rock using one foot and leered, "What's the matter, Potter? Bit beyond your reach?"

"It didn't end well the last time you said that, Malfoy," said Oliver smugly, and he, Harry and Monica floated up to meet him. Rain lashed at their face, and large beads dripped from their hair and nose, but perhaps the most uncomfortable part of the current situation was that the blustering wind drilled a chill through to their very bones. "Do you want to risk losing worse than someone else's Remembrall this time?"

Harry chanced a momentary glance at the surroundings, and saw that the damage was far worse than he could ever have imagined – the Forbidden Forest was almost nonexistent behind a wall of fire and every single living creature fled for their lives, heading towards a twinkle-lit Hogsmeade just beyond the mangled, wrought-iron gates. Centaurs trampled over Blast-Ended Skrewts, Unicorns violently speared Acromantula with their tusk, Salamanders set fire to squadrons of Bowtruckles as they stormed the village, and many of the residents shouted in terror when their homes were stampeded.

"Now!" Katie bellowed, and she, along with Ron, Hermione and the once-again human students, hailed Amy with spells of all effects. "You might be able to use Vinculum Duo, but you're no match for us three and at least a hundred students!"

"Sir, take Malfoy down!" one of the students shouted. "We've got your back!"

"How _touching_," said Malfoy sarcastically. "Need your students to fight your battles for you, Potter-?"

"IT'S POTTER-WOOD!"

"I DON'T CARE!" Malfoy raised his arms, and in a tumultuous groan of steel, the very foundations of Hogwarts were ripped from the earth, twisting and contorting of their own accord until they formed three evenly-spaced platforms. They surrounded him, the furthest edges of each platform forming a perfect triangle, and they extended to Harry, Oliver and Monica in a suggestively playful. "ALL THE TIME WE WERE AT HOGWARTS TOGETHER, EVERYONE WAS ON YOUR SIDE! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW IT FELT TO BE THE ONE NOT GETTING ANY ATTENTION? TO LIVE IN THE SHADOW OF THE _GREAT HARRY POTTER_? NO! BECAUSE ALL YOU THINK ABOUT IS YOURSELF!"

"THAT'S WHAT THIS IS ALL ABOUT? YOU MURDERED MY FRIENDS AND PART OF MY FAMILY BECAUSE YOU'RE _JEALOUS_? Wow, Malfoy, really…"

"Even I didn't think you could stoop so low-"

"YOU HAVE NO INPUT, WOOD-!"

"HE HAS ALL THE FUCKING INPUT HE WANTS!" Harry spat, and he launched a boulder of rock and ice at Malfoy. It was met by a heated glare, the ice melted, but the rock remained. A simple punch from Malfoy corrected that issue, however; the boulder became slabs and the slabs became pebbles, as they all cascaded into the. "STOP PLAYING GAMES AND FIGHT!"

"I'll play all the games I like. Three platforms, each can only support the weight of one, stand in front of you. You can try to all charge at me at the same time using one each, but there are force fields stopping you from doing so. Let's see if you really are as good at fighting as you've made yourselves out to be."

"I'll go first," said Monica immediately. She stepped onto the levitating platform, which dipped minutely, and faced Malfoy with a hard resolve. "Right, you sleazy son of a bitch, give me everything you've got."

With that, she set off at a sprint, her feet clanging loudly, so loud that it drowned out the thunderstorm overhead, her wand drawn. Malfoy made a few odd slashing motions with the whole of his arms, much to Harry and Oliver's confusion – nothing came of the bizarre sight, except for a few sprinkles of water from Malfoy's fingertips.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Monica screamed. Her shoulder-length hair crept into her mouth and her vision went black for a few seconds any and all light was drowned out by the soaked strands. From the end of her wand exploded a jet of emerald light that sounded a lot like rushing air as it zoomed towards Malfoy. It seemed that Malfoy, on the other hand, had been anticipating such an attack – a barricade of decimated brick popped into existence, as if automatically, and in an expulsion of dust that collected on the fine tips of Harry's hair, Monica was blown several feet backwards on the platform.

She kept her balance, albeit barely. Keeping herself crouched low to be a smaller target, she decreased her speed but made the distance between her steps larger. She held her wand firmly, flicked a traitorous curtain of hair from in front of her eyes, and engaged a tyrannically-smiling Malfoy in a stare-down – all while prowling forward.

"Is that all you've got, Geller? It'll take far more than a mere Killing Curse to dispatch me. _Expulso!_" The lump of stone which Malfoy had thrown at Monica blew up: the force of the spell threw her – or what looked like her - over the side and her wand left her hand as she grasped the edge of the platform. "See? You can't fight for shit!"

"I'm not as weak as I look, Malfoy!" Monica remained standing. It was only when the hanging doppelganger disappeared in a puff of smoke that Harry realised Monica had mastered the Cloning charm. "Cloning charms are a wonderful thing, you know?"

She steamed on before Malfoy could react. But Malfoy didn't need to do so; starting off with a small spark, the paths drawn by malfoy's zealous movements lit up and threatened bloody murder. A horizontal beam of aggressive energy cut through the air at neck-level, moving at such a speed that Monica was very lucky to have survived the attack: she ducked, lost a sliver of hair in the night, but arched a sneaky Stunning spell in Malfoy's direction.

"Not good enough!" said Malfoy, who deflected the spell with the tiniest twitch of his finger. The air around him was disturbed yet again, except this time Monica was too slow: from behind an invisible wall which shielded Malfoy from attacks, a vertical, ghostly-green blade sliced the air, but it didn't suffer any setbacks, didn't yield to any of Monica's desperate attempts at defence. Instead, it stormed on, and Monica was quickly carved in twain. Malfoy wore a victorious smirk as the halves of Monica's body tumbled into the darkness below - two lifeless clumps of jagged bones, falling flesh and internal organs. "One down, two to go. Who's going to-?"

Harry and Oliver, both burning with sickening rage, found themselves surrounded by a strange, warm, white glow. It filled their bodies, fuelled their desire for revenge. White wisps curled outwards from their bodies and they subconsciously linked hands as they rose higher into the air. Oliver gave a screech like a bat and Malfoy clapped his hands to his ears. But that wasn't the only effect of Oliver's impromptu ballad: something spoke to them, like a whisper. Barely audible over the ferocious duel between Amy and everyone else below, a very quiet chipping could be heard. Then Harry saw a rather peculiar object descending in front of a horrified Malfoy, a little like smouldering ash. The chipping grew louder, more severe, and when Harry mirrored Oliver's screech, it seemed that the whole world was doing its utmost to tear itself apart: the earth shuddered and the other two platforms plummeted to the ground with an echoing clank, but perhaps the most destructive part of the spectacle was the cough of diamond-like sparkles around Malfoy's position centre-stage.

Although they looked sharp and very lethal indeed, the mystifying shapes left no traces of their existence on Harry or Oliver's, nor Malfoy's, skin. Instead, they disintegrated into the smallest particles of glittering dust, and Harry was left wondering what had just happened.

"My shield…" Malfoy whimpered. "My shield…"

Harry and Oliver cast each other confident glances, nodded, pushed their palms out in Malfoy's direction and cried, in complete and utter synch, "_Confringo!_"

Malfoy's tower puffed beneath his feet and he shot up into the endless black expanse above like a geyser. His only support – a stray block of stone no more than a yard wide – fell away, leaving him with nothing to stop him from falling.

"If anyone's killing him, it's going to be us," said Harry. "Come on, honey, let's finish him." Zooming up to meet the sobbing Malfoy, they released each other's hand. Oliver grabbed Malfoy's ankles while Harry grabbed Malfoy's head. "What's the matter, Malfoy? Didn't think it would end this way? Oliver, NOW!"

Harry lurched to the right, Oliver twisted to the left, Malfoy crunched, broke, and the two gushing parts of his body were swallowed by the burning belly of the conflagrant castle below, his eyes staring without seeing, his face etched with his final few seconds of horror.

"One down, one to go," said Harry, who took the time to use a spare napkin he had and wiped the blood from Oliver's cheek. He turned to face the fight at the foot of the Astronomy Tower and knew a feeling of guilt more intense than anything else in his life: scattered like pawns on a chessboard were the bodies of at least fifty students. Those who survived didn't look like they could handle much more; they held their arms, some of them no longer able to use a wand, and shuffled around the lawns of Hogwarts in a frantic attempt to find safety.

Ron, Hermione and Katie were still putting a brave fight, but they looked far worse than before. Ron was almost impossible to recognise, Hermione's cheek and forehead were showing bone and Katie appeared to have lost an ear.

"Come on," said Oliver over the crackling fire. He coughed a few times and expelled a lungful of ash. "Just one more fight to go. We're almost there, sweetheart."

And they flew like asteroids towards the ground.


	33. It All Ends

**Chapter Thirty Three – It All Ends**

Before Harry and Oliver even landed they rolled off a series of Stunning spells and Disarming charms in an attempt to make Amy vulnerable enough for them to attack and kill her swiftly.

When their feet hit the ground, a tremor thundered through the grass and soil: green and brown replaced the orange around them for just a brief second before settling once more.

Covered in sweat, and blood not just of their own, Harry and Oliver joined Ron, Hermione and Katie, who were all stood resolute. As one single unit, the five of them glowered at Amy as they prowled forward. Yet Amy seemed undeterred.

"Still waiting on that fight," she said in a bored tone, but her forehead was cut and her left arm hung limply by her side.

"You'll find that we're more than a match for you, Amy," said Harry. "Oliver and I tore Malfoy in two using our bare hands. Want that to happen to you, too?"

"I'd like to see you try." Despite her boyfriend's gruesome end, she was uncommonly calm. The most angry part about her right now was a malevolent flame that danced around her fingertips. She made to charge at them five of them, but Harry held his hand out and created an invisible wall between them.

"We know that you and Malfoy killed those people out of jealousy," he said, "what we want to know is how you managed to evade us for so long…"

"Alright, fine. I guess since I'm about to kill you I owe you _that_ much." The rain flecked at their faces and Harry was no longer able to see past his glasses. Amy's expression was rather worrisome – it had undergone a rapid transformation from one of pure venom to an unusually reminiscent gloss. "I guess it all started when you and your husband got my boyfriend sent to prison. I was left without a companion, the one I loved. Do you have any idea how devastating that is? I started cutting myself, thinking that it was my fault he was sent to Azkaban, my fault he attacked you – I convinced him, you see, convinced him that you two deserved none of the attention you were getting. So he tried to kill you. Then I realised that it was his choice to attack you. As much as his departure upset me, I started concocting a plan to destroy the both of you."

"Then why fight the Nocturnimagi? Why not just let them kill myself and Harry?"

"I'd thought about it," said Amy conversationally, and it drove Harry insane, "but then I realised that I wanted the pleasure of killing you myself. It was the only time I planned on helping you. Then, of course, came the arrival of the Blue Swan agents that night in the Forbidden Forest. Time and again I tried to corner you amongst the trees, but Rebekah and Dominic kept getting in the way and I had to abandon my position so that I wouldn't be caught out of bed."

"How did you manage to keep yourself hidden so well all that time?" asked Hermione, intrigued. "From what Harry and Oliver told myself and Ron, the whole forest was decimated."

"Disillusionment charms," said Amy nonchalantly, but the fire remained in her palm. "When I saw you all leaving, I thought that my plans were failing. Then the story of you saving the Universe started spreading and you both came back. By then, I was already planning on breaking Draco out of prison. Yes, it was _me_ who broke into Azkaban, _me_ who destroyed countless Dementors, _me_ who killed hundreds of guards trying to get my boyfriend out of prison so that we could share the joy of terminating your existence. Unfortunately, Monica saw me. See, when you go into Azkaban, any and all enchantments placed upon you are lifted. She remembered that she was infertile, that she could have no children of her own, and promptly attacked me when she noticed what I was up to. It was a whole lot messier than I intended, but the outcome was the same nevertheless. Of course, Monica certainly became a painful thorn in my side for a while after that. I kept myself on the down-low so that she wouldn't find me, and I instead focussed on invoking Vinculum Duo with Draco. And what do you know, Potter-Wood, we were hidden in the Room of Requirement all this time! For the past month, we've been monitoring both of you and your daily patterns, and once we heard that there was a baby shower going on, we knew that that would be our chance to strike."

"You killed all those people just because we got your boyfriend sent to prison?" said Ron, in shock. "I could understand if they'd killed a family member, but that's just pathetic! And why Imperius me? If you wanted to kill them yourselves, why drag me into the frame?"

"We needed a scapegoat," said Amy, who displayed a snide smirk. "We didn't Imperius you to murder them, merely injure so that we could deal the finishing blow ourselves. You proved rather useful, too, and we were glad that Monica was sent to prison before you were – your case was discredited, so there was no risk of you going to Azkaban and losing the enchantments we placed upon you. A simple but effective way of making sure that Harry and Oliver feared for their safety."

"Except you forgot one thing," said Harry confidently, twirling the rock which he had conjured in his fingers.

"And what's that?"

"All five of us have killed someone far stronger, far eviller than you." Amy's face fell, as though in fright. Harry added more earth to the rock and threw the resulting slab at her: her nose cracked and her broken teeth punctured her lips. She flew into the air. "Now!"

Harry and Oliver tied their hands together as they kicked off from the ground, a wave of water splashing behind them, and Ron, Hermione and Katie followed very closely.

Like a disco of coloured auras, the five of them soared in a circle around a rapidly rising Amy. Harry and Oliver felt themselves merging with the wind, a certain something channelled through their bodies into the other three, and all of their eyes turned white. Faster they moved and stronger the power within them grew: a cone of air wider than the Astronomy Tower itself began to expand on the muddy grass below. It created its own suction, tentacle-like extensions reached out and intertwined, made a deformed sort of net. Then the net grew solid and the process carried on until they were all surrounded by lethally-spiralling debris from the castle that didn't ever stop – windows and doors were thrown outwards but there were still huge walls that rose into the night, controlled only by the great grey void which Harry, Oliver, Ron, Hermione and Katie had produced.

Amy lay flat where she floated, staring in horror up at the faces of those who were so determined to see the end of her life.

The claps of thunder Harry knew were behind the wispy wall were impossible to hear, but there were no sounds within to drown them out, either; a smothering silence befell the tornado, one that compressed Harry's eardrums, and everything moved with a noticeable lethargy.

Regardless, he and Oliver broke away from the vortex and hovered a hundred feet above Amy. Then they embraced in a passionate and loving kiss.

"You see, Amy? _This_ is how Vinculum Duo should truly be used. Oliver and I are so in love that nought can stop us – not Nocturnimagus, not Blue Swan agent, and certainly not a lowlife piece of scum like _you_! You think life goes by because of the way our lives pan out, but you're wrong! We mould our own paths – don't blame others for your failures! Goodbye, Amy!"

Holding each other and spinning fast like a drill, Harry and Oliver plunged, feet-first, towards Amy. A scream of renewed torture pierced the frigid night, and Amy found herself spiralling uncontrollably as Harry and Oliver drove her into the ground. Although not as effective as it would have been if the ground was dry, there was still sufficient friction to strip copious amounts of flesh from Amy's arms, legs and torso. For another few seconds Harry and Oliver shredded her gut, not caring that they were getting her blood and intestinal contents all over their clothes, but when her last breath left her mouth in a croak, they stopped abruptly and hopped out of her body.

By now, the night was settled yet again. The only sounds of disturbance were those coming from the students who had cowered behind a stubborn thicket of bushes, and the innocent crackling of the fire that had consumed Hogwarts.

"It's all over," sighed Harry in relief. He looked at a bloody-faced Oliver. _His_ bloody-faced Oliver. "Honey… it's _over_…"

"No more fighting, no more attempts on our lives… we can finally live in peace." Oliver placed a gentle kiss to Harry's lips as Ron, Hermione and Katie descended. "I love you, Snitchy."

"I love you, too, baby. Hard to believe that anybody could do so many horrible things in the space of just a year…"

"I can't believe we didn't suspect her sooner. When Peeves said he saw someone with green on them – when he was throwing those bones at me – the green _must_ have been Amy's hair."

"Not to mention the sustained interest she held for the both of you," said Hermione, as she, Ron and Katie stepped over loose body parts and mounds of gore. "I was bombarded by questions from her a couple of months ago. She asked about what sort of activities you got up to and whether you had any hobbies. It was quite annoying, really, but I didn't say anything because I was so polite. I didn't answer her questions, though: I just walked away."

"There were a lot of things you all missed, weren't there?" Ron laughed. Hermione gave him a scathing glance at first, but her expression softened shortly thereafter and she kissed him.

"Everything is over now. I think it's time for a new beginning," she smiled.

"So what do you plan on doing now, Katie?" said Oliver. "Still want to be a waitress?"

"Nah, I gave that up ages ago. I'm actually not quite sure what it is I want to do with my life. Waitressing isn't for me. Mediwizardry seems like something I could get my claws into, though."

"I guess I'll be taking you under my wing, then?" said Sarah, who spluttered and coughed up blood as she lifted a plank of wood off of her body. She, along with Madame Pomfrey, emerged from the wreckage of Hogwarts with little more than a few broken bones and bruises.

"I think you mean _I'll_ be taking her under my wing," said Poppy sharply. She recoiled when she saw the mangled body of Amy lying upon the floor. "I _am_ the Hogwarts Healer, after all.  
"Oh, but look at all these students… They gave their lives to help you, Harry, I think it's only fitting that we give them an appropriate send-off."

"You think I wasn't planning on doing so?" said Harry indignantly. "Blimey, Poppy, I've got a hell of a lot more sympathy than that. Frankly, I'm a little insulted that you think I'd be so uncaring."

"Could someone _please_ get me out from under this fucking mess?!" came a voice that Harry thought he knew. He looked around for source of the sound, found nothing, but then he noticed a rather peculiar pink bit of fluff trailing along the grass.

"Rebekah?" said Oliver, astonished. "We thought you'd died!"

"I would have," said Rebekah irritably. She swept soot from her emerald robes which were smattered with blood and stared hard at Harry, "were it not for Bridgett standing right front of me. She felt oddly heavy considering she's as thin as a rake."

"The baby…" murmured Oliver, his eyes welling with tears. "Oh, that poor, poor baby…"

"What are you-?"

"Bridgett was pregnant," said Harry shortly. "Don't worry, Ollie, we'll give _everyone_ the send-off they deserve. And, Hermione, what about Fred?"

"Fred? Oh, you mean that cheating scumbag? Yeah, I caught him having sex with Percy's girlfriend, Elizabeth. Don't think Percy is going to be too pleased, either."

Harry linked his arm with Oliver's, Ron linked his arm with Hermione's, while Katie and Rebekah walked separately, as they set off, away from the blazing inferno, towards a destroyed Hogsmeade.

"We can fix the village back up, can't we?" said Harry, looking at Oliver unsurely. "We're strong enough for that, right?"

"Sweetheart, we're strong enough to fix-up Hogwarts."

"Then why don't we?" Harry pulled away from Oliver and aimed his palm at the castle. "_Reparo!_" It had the most minimal of effects: a wall rose from the ground, shook the soot and ash from its brick surface, and slotted itself back into the foundations which had risen from the rubble and returned to their previous form. "What are you lot waiting for? Give me a hand!"

They obeyed.

Raising his palm whilst everyone else used their wand, Oliver joined Harry in his incantation, and in a painful groan of metal, the very castle began to repair itself; glass shards reformed and shone gold for a split-second; large fragments of masonry glued together and fell back into place; splinters of wood whipped through the air, merging to become great towering doors and square window panes; the House hourglasses collated their jewels and slid back into the Entrance Hall; the battlements lost their chipped texture; the Astronomy Tower's balcony reverted to its polished, brown hue; broken plates of armour chinked as they smelted into shiny suits; and the Great Inferno of Hogwarts was doused in the blink of an eye. Standing tall and mighty, just as rustically beautiful as the very first time that Harry had laid eyes upon its many turrets, was Hogwarts castle, looking as though nothing sinister or violent had ever happened, in or out of its walls.

"See? Didn't take much now, did it? Our home is back to normal," said Harry happily. Then his expression turned grave. "We should have a few minutes of silence for those lost…"

Everyone bowed their head and closed their eyes. Madame Pomfrey in particular gave a few quiet sniffs, whilst Hermione and Rebekah allowed themselves to sob into the night. Meanwhile, Harry and Oliver were holding each other, crying limitlessly.

After ten intense minutes of weeping and grieving for the lost students and staff, Harry, Oliver and everyone else lined the dead neatly against on the shore of the Black Lake. Amy and Malfoy - who had been regurgitated by the double doors of the Entrance Hall like a foul-tasting Bertie Bott's Bean – were tied together, wrapped in the cotton which Oliver had conjured specially, and ignited unceremoniously.

"Good riddance," said Harry bitterly. "That's it for us now, honey. No more fighting. We've got two children to look after, now-"

"Soon to be four," grunted Oliver, who clapped a hand to his stomach, yowled in pain and crumpled to the floor.


	34. Four's Company

**Chapter Thirty Four – Four's Company**

"Come on, Ollie, you can do this," said Harry encouragingly, as he, Ron, Hermione, Lily, James, James Sirius, Sarah and Mrs Wood (for the first time) galloped alongside the stretcher across which Oliver was laid. Oliver's eyes were streaming, his face a very sickly pale, and his stomach quivered minutely. "You've done this before, you can do it again! My brave, brave man, don't give up!"

"Would you shut up already, you're giving me a headache!" Oliver snarled at him, and Ron snickered.

"It's just the hormones talking, honey-"

"ARE YOU WILLING TO TEST THAT THEORY?!"

"Oliver," a Midwitch said sternly, "you need to stay calm so that the baby isn't under any stress."

"Stress?!" Oliver shrieked weakly. "Of course I'm not stressed! I've just been in a life-threatening fight and watched countless students die! Why should I be stressed?!"

"Sweetie, please, calm down," Harry pleaded, and he kissed Oliver deeply. "It's not good for the twins, and I _know_ you don't want to hurt them. I love you, you can do this."

The stretcher rattled along the sterile corridor at St Mungo's, the only louder sound being that of Oliver agonised wails. He squirmed around, clutching his stomach and screaming obscenities.

"Please, someone take this pain away from me!" he begged, grabbing Harry by the collar. "Sweetheart, please… help me…"

Sarah bustled past crowd of people and ran to the end of the corridor, pointing to the right. "In here!" she said quickly. "I'll be your-"

"_I'll _be his Midwitch!" said Winona Jones tersely. She stormed onto the corridor behind Harry and the others, her wispy, flyaway hair fluttering behind her and her Midwitchery uniform flapping around her ankles. "It's my job, after all!"

"I beg your pardon?! I was the one who delivered Rose-!"

"I DON'T FUCKING CARE WHO MY MIDWITCH IS! JUST GET THESE TWINS OUT OF ME!"

"Well?" said Midwitch Jones sharply. "Go and get those injuries sorted out, you're a mess!" With a scathing glance, Sarah took in a deep, angry sigh and left the scene. "Okay, Oliver, just regulate your breathing. Nice, deep breaths in and then very slow exhalations, alright? We'll get you your potions as soon as we can. Can we get some MPreg potions down here, please! In this room. Harry, you can stay, but everyone else will have to wait outside."

"Mum, take James Sirius and Rose into the waiting area."

"My little captain!" squealed the bulky form of Denise Wood, who pushed past Harry and embraced a very sweaty Oliver in a crushing hug. "What's happening to you, dear?"

"He's giving birth, Denise," said Lily, who had taken Rose out of her pram and was carrying her whilst James Sirius looked on in apprehension. James was waiting outside the door. "Right now, the more we crowd around him, the more stress we'll put the twins under. James Sirius, let's go and get you some sweeties."

With that, she, along with the others in the room, hurried out of the door and out of sight.

It was suddenly rather quiet in the birthing room now. Harry thought it would be best to keep Oliver occupied in conversation instead of waiting for his contractions to get worse.

"How are you feeling, honey?"

"As good as these twins will allow," Oliver grimaced: his stomach rippled around his exposed navel. The shirt which had been torn from his body now lay upon the floor like some sort of old rag. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry about screaming at you."

"It's fine, don't worry about it. You're in a lot of pain: I expected that sort of thing, especially after knowing what labour feels like. Giving birth to Rose was no easy task for me, by any means."

"Having James Sirius was hard enough work. These twins are going to tear me in half…"

"You'll be fine." Harry placed the gentlest of kisses to Oliver's soaked forehead. "I'm here for you, honey."

"Thanks. I love you, Snitch- Owwwww!" Oliver keeled over and held his knees to his chest. His cheeks were streaming with tears of torment.

"Easy there. Just lay back and take in a few nice, long breaths." Harry sat on the chair beside the bed and synchronised his breathing exercises with Oliver's. "That's it. In… out… in… out…"

But it seemed that these weren't having as much of an effect as Harry would have liked: Oliver started thrashing around wildly while his stomach jerked left and right, and when his screeches reached fever pitch, it seemed that there was very little chance of his pain being subdued anytime soon.

A few minutes later, however, salvation arrived in the form of a bobbing clump of white hair the texture of candy floss, carrying with it a tray of blue, red and pink potions.

"Here you go, Oliver," said Midwitch Jones hurriedly, and she passed him the blue and red potions, which he gulped straight. "The blue one calms the spasms in your stomach, the red one numbs your worn muscles, and the pink one is an acceleration potion. Take that one last; it'll make the other two start working within three minutes."

Oliver drained the pink potion. Within a minute, his stomach had ceased its shaking and his breathing was back normal. He could no longer feel pain. He sighed, "Finally. I was wondering when that god-awful pain was going to leave me alone."

"Well, at least it's gone," said Harry gladly. Placing a sweet kiss to Oliver's lips, he gave the baby bump a few gentle strokes. "These two are going to be so worth the pain, I promise…"

"Of course they will. James Sirius was certainly worth the pain. I bet Rose was worth the pain, too."

"Oh, she was. I love my little princess so much. James Sirius is my precious prince, too."

"You're such an amazing father, sweetheart. What would the kids do without you?"

"Hey, you're just as good a parent as I am, if not better! You're cool, calm, collected, nurturing, protective – _overprotective_, more like – whereas all I'm good for is keeping James Sirius in check."

"You make it sound as though he doesn't love you." Oliver said sadly, if not slightly irritably. "Snitchy, I've seen the way he looks at you. You're his role model! No bad parent would be able to have their kid look up to them like that. You're fantastic at everything you do, being a mother included! Please, Harry, don't doubt yourself as a parent. If all of our children will look up to you like James Sirius does, you'll know that you did the best job you could. I've noticed that James has started coming to you more often than not if he's having a problem with one of the children he plays. All I'm good for is kissing his cuts better, making his meals and holding him when he feels upset. That seems about right – the mother is supposed to be the nurturer while the father provides the child with someone to look up to. If that's not good parenting, I don't know what is."

"So… you mean that Rose is going to see you when she's older the same way James Sirius sees me?"

"If I don't muck things up, yeah," Oliver smiled warmly, ensnared Harry lips passionately, and then put a subconscious hand on his stomach. "It's not hurting, but I can feel something pulling at my stomach. It feels a little tight."

"Let's take a look at it, shall we?" Midwitch Jones picked up a familiar white screen and erected it just above Oliver's stomach. Harry could no longer see the bump. "Ah yes, I can see the head of the first baby. You should be able to start pushing now, Oliver."

Oliver screwed his eyes up, directed all of his will towards his abdomen, and gave a hard shove. Harry's hand, which Oliver had gripped moments earlier, found itself being crushed relentlessly, and Harry yelped when the bones in his fingers started to crack.

"IT MUST ONLY GET RID OF THE PAIN FROM _INSIDE_!" Oliver roared, as the first cries of a baby filled the room. "GAH! I THOUGHT MY STOMACH WAS GOING TO TEAR OPEN!"

"It's a beautiful baby boy! All you need to do now is push your daughter out! You're almost there, Oliver!"

"Is she close to arrival yet?" said Harry.

"Not quite. Just a little bit longer and she'll be ready for delivery. For now, I think you two should get acquainted with your new son. Here you go, little one, go to Mummy and Daddy," Midwitch Jones handed the small parcel of blankets to Oliver, who was crying profusely.

"Hello, you gorgeous little thing," he cooed, lightly sweeping a finger through the tangled mess of tousled, brown hair, staring down at the little boy's eyes, one of which was hazel whilst the other was a bright shade of emerald. "Oh, look, you've got one eye of Mummy's and one eye of Daddy's! Aren't you just _adorable_? I haven't been holding you for more than five minutes and I'd already give my life for you, cupcake. Love you, little one."

Oliver kissed the boy on the forehead, hugged him softly, and then gave him to Harry.

"Wow!" said Harry quietly. "He looks so much like me!"

"He does, doesn't he? Must be where he gets his looks from," Oliver said with a wink.

"Hey, you're more good-looking than I am," smirked Harry, who proudly dripped tears onto his son's cheeks. He wiped them away as tenderly as he could.

Then Oliver's stomach started knotting again and Midwitch Jones was quick to start fussing around again.

"Alright, Oliver," she said, "your daughter is ready to be delivered – I can see her red hair!"

"Red?" said Harry and Oliver confusedly. "How-?"

"Just push!"

"I'm giving you a hand with this one," said Harry, who smashed his lips to Oliver's and engaged him in their most fierce, loving kiss in a long while.

Oliver screamed, lightning bolts of pain assaulting his system, but then the world was yet again filled with the most beautiful sound nature could muster.

As fragile as an ornate glass, a little girl with deep-red hair and jewel-bright blue eyes was given to Oliver.

"Hello, beautiful!" he said, sobbing and holding her close to his chest. "I'm Mummy. Welcome to the world, darling. Hey, would you like to go and see Daddy?"

Harry replaced his son in his arms with his daughter, and was instantly struck by the very strong resemblance she had to Lily. He tried to whisper his pride as quietly as he could, but the sound was so low that he may not have been making a sound at all. "She… she's _perfect_…"

"What should we call them?" said Oliver, who had given up on wiping tears from his eyes long ago. His cheeks shone.

"I feel bad for choosing all of our kids' names," said Harry glumly. "You choose what we call these two."

"Okay, then," said Oliver, smiling. "I think we should name our son Albus Severus."

"Any particular reason?" said Harry inquisitively.

"I figured we should honour those we lost at the hands of Amy and Malfoy…"

Harry nodded in understanding.

"I also think we should call our daughter… Lily Luna."

"They're both incredible names," said Harry, whose eyes welled with even more tears. "I can't believe it…"

"Can't believe what, sweetheart?"

"I can't believe that after everything we've been through, we can _finally_ live the family life we've wanted for so long. We've got four children, a dog, a home, even a family owl."

"It's funny," chuckled Oliver. "All we need now is a car."

After much attention from the others at the hospital – during which time several of them were rushed into treatment for broken bones, missing limbs or a combination of both – Harry and Oliver were finally given the go-ahead to return home.

Hogwarts would look as though nothing had happened within or outside of its walls, for there was still residual energy left behind by Vinculum Duo that returned Hogsmeade and the Forbidden Forest back to its original state.


	35. 15 years later

**15 years later…**

The sun hung high in the sky above King's Cross station as Harry, Oliver, Rose, Lily Luna, Minerva Bridgett, Eddy Dominic and Katie Rebekah Potter-Wood trotted along platform nine-and-three-quarters towards the great scarlet engine.

"Come on, hurry up!" Oliver said loudly. The chattering of nearby students and the belching of steam clouds overhead made hearing very difficult. He sighed in exasperation. "Where the _hell_ are James Sirius and Albus Severus?"

"Mum! Mum!" Albus Severus, heading off to his fifth year at Hogwarts with his twin sister, Lily Luna, and two-weeks-older sister Rose, said frantically. "You won't _believe_ what I saw James Sirius doing!"

"Go on, then, what's he doing?" said Oliver without looking at him. Harry focussed himself on helping Rose and Lily Luna onto the train.

"I caught him and Stewie Lockhart _kissing_!" Albus Severus said all this very fast, rather like Hermione, who had had two children named Rose and Hugo with Ron. His excitement was put-out by a stern word from Oliver, though.

"Albus Severus Potter-Wood, don't you dare do anything to interrupt them! That's private!"

"Sorry, Mum."

"Um, Mum, have you seen my jumper?" Rose, blue-haired and sporting purple eyes today, asked Harry.

"It's in your trunk, Rosie," Harry smiled. He pecked her on the cheek as the whistle blew: five minutes until the train would leave. "Have you got everything?" Rose simply nodded.

"Sorry I'm late, Mum," said James Sirius, who adjusted his collar as he ran over to his family. "I thought I'd lost my trunk."

"It's on the train, nimrod!" teased Eddy Dominic. He looked at Harry. "Mum, tell him Albus Severus-"

"Eddy Dominic Potter-Wood, you keep your mouth shut!" warned Oliver, who noticed the heavy blush on his oldest son's cheeks.

"Sorry, Dad…"

Oliver turned to face James Sirius, who for some apparent reason didn't meet his gaze. "Darling, we know about you and Stewie. There's no need to be embarrassed, you know? Look at your father and I! Sixteen years together and we're still as happy as the day we first became lovers." Oliver kissed Harry with exquisite passion.

"Eurgh, do you have to?" Albus Severus complained. He clambered onto the train behind Hugo and Rose Weasley, whom he greeted with wide smiles.

"Don't worry about it," Hugo said with a gruff voice. "Our Mum and Dad do it all the time."

"And so we should," said Hermione. She stepped beside Harry and Oliver, beaming. "You remember what we told you about being in love?"

"It's the strongest force in nature," Hugo and Rose rolled off in a bored tone.

"Exactly. Now, hurry up! The train's about to leave!"

"Last-minute checks!" called Oliver. "Pets?" The children nodded. "Wands?" Again, they nodded. "Clothes?"

"Mum," Lily Luna, Minerva Bridgett, Albus Severus and James Sirius whined, but the rest of the children intoned 'Dad' instead, "stop fussing! We've got everything!"

"I was only checking," said Oliver amusedly. "Alright, have a good trip! We'll meet you up at the train station tonight!"

"Bye, Mum! Bye, Dad!" Huge and Rose called out of a window. Hermione gave them final kisses, and then the train shuddered into life.

It rumbled along the track, taking the children away from their parents as it went, until it turned round a corner covered by thick trees, and rattled off to Hogwarts.

Harry turned to Oliver, whose hair was a chestnut-brown streaked with black. Harry's was the same.

For ten years now, Harry and Oliver's Bonding had been fully Consummated. They were no longer merely linked at the soul, but they contained a part of each other like keepsakes. It would be impossible for either of them to die without the other dying at the same time, something which could only happen once they had both lived to a very old age. They would never fall out of love, no matter how many arguments they may have, and they would be together not just in life, but death as well.

It was as though they were one with the other, two perfectly-matched beings connected forevermore on a level far deeper than even the foundations of their undying love.

The Consummation had been very extravagant, with red-and-gold decorations hither-and-thither, and their children dressed smartly in robes of matching colours. There was plenty of crying and kissing between Harry and Oliver – even more between Mr and Mrs Weasley and Lily and James Potter – and it came as a surprise to them both when they found their eyes and hair had changed colour. Oliver's left eye had turned emerald, whereas Harry's left eye had turned brown, linking them even more. But perhaps the sweetest thing about the entire day was the lovemaking they had together that night.

Their hearts beat as one, Harry's heavenly thrusts into the man of his dreams drove them both crazy, and the flaring passion between them was so palpable that the furniture in the antiquely-designed hotel room quaked in place.

"It was nice of your parents to look after the kids for the summer," said Oliver, as he and Harry walked back out of Kings Cross station and onto the busy street beyond. "It gave us a lovely six weeks of peace and passion."

"It did, didn't it?" Out from his pocket Harry took a set of jangling keys. He scrolled through them, found the one he was looking for, and slid it into the lock of their three-year old family car. He climbed inside while Oliver got in through the passenger door. "I love you so much, Ollie…"

"I love you, too, sweetheart."

They leaned together, kissed gently and smiled each other. Then the last thing before Harry put his foot down on the acceleration was place a very gentle hand to his stomach and give it a tiny squeeze.

Life ever since those fateful fifteen years previously had been the best of Harry's life. He was a parent seven times and loved by all at Hogwarts, of which he was now the proud headmaster.

Oliver, on the other hand, left his post as Child Monitor shortly after Amy and Malfoy's death, instead opting to stay home and look after the children while Harry worked in the school.

Harry and Oliver's children were familiar with the seven novels written by J.K. Rowling, having been read them since a very young age, and there were three words that stood out amongst the rest to Harry.

_All was well._

* * *

**Third fanfiction complete! Thanks for reading! For the fourth fanfiction in this saga, just look at my profile! They've been assigned volumes for easier reading. c:**

**Fight or Flight was finished at 22:10pm (GMT) on 4th February 2013.**

**~ WoodismyKeeper**


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